


Nail In My Coffin

by foramomentonly



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Fashion AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kylex brotp, M/M, Malex, Masturbation, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Restraints, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 218
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this post ages ago and could not get it out of my head. So thank you, @signoraviolettavalery for the prompt and thank you, @angsty-aliens for the encouragement!
> 
> There will definitely be a Part Two. There will eventually be smut.
> 
> I’m not focusing majorly on the design/fashion portion of this story, so description of garments and knowledge of clothing design/production will be minimal.
> 
> Title is a The Kills song. IDK. I’m shit at titles.

"Hi, I'm Michael."

Alex barely spares him a glance.

"Take off your shirt."

"Alex," Kyle chastises, voice firm and eyes glued to the sleek Singer he's been hunched over for the past hour, tailoring the shit out of a jacket.

Alex huffs, rolling his eyes. He didn't apply to this mind-numbing reality show to make friends—though he's not stupid enough to say that on camera. He and Kyle had been struggling for over a year to secure the capital needed to launch the menswear line they designed together. When Kyle heard about a call for design teams to compete on a new fashion reality show for a chance to win funding and publicity for their start-up lines—if you can call reinventing Project Runway for the ten-thousandth time "new"—he convinced Alex their dignity was worth an answer to all their financial woes.

So, no, Alex doesn’t care much about making personal connections or exchanging small talk with the other contestants or models, but he’s getting a bit of a reputation on set if the pitiful look their neighbor's model gives theirs is any indication. Kyle's good nature and doe eyes, always effective at soothing over Alex's rough edges, have clearly reached their limit.

"Sorry," Alex mumbles, "former Air Force captain. I'm Alex."

He looks up at his model—Michael—and is surprised to find he's already shirtless, his loose flannel in a heap on the floor next to him.

"It's fine," Michael says, golden eyes bright and a playful smirk pulling at his lips as he makes eye contact with Alex for the first time, "comes with the territory."

Alex nods approvingly.

“Good,” he says, “pants, too, then.”

“What my partner means to say,” Kyle interjects, elbowing Alex as he comes up beside him with the garments he’s only just finished hemming, “is that we’re excited to work with you, Michael, and would you please try these on behind the privacy partition, if that makes you most comfortable.”

Michael shrugs and casually works open his compensating-for-nothing-apparently belt buckle and jeans, letting them drop easily to the ground next to his shirt. He steps around his clothes and takes the garments from Kyle’s hands, smirking again as Kyle gapes and Alex raises an unimpressed brow. Not that models don’t routinely strip on command and in front of designers, but they’re usually not as smug about it.

“I’m fine,” he says easily, “just put me where you want me.”

Michael has the gall to wink and Alex scoffs. He’s noticed Michael, of course; he cuts an imposing figure on the runway, riotous curls and broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist, brash and brawny. They were lucky to win him in the lottery. But Alex knows very little about him otherwise, and the last thing he needs is some ambitious model trying to fuck his way to a prime position as the favored team’s model-of-choice.

“Spare me,” Alex mutters to himself, then in a stronger voice says, “On the platform when you’re done changing.”

Kyle tosses his hands in the air, shaking his head.

“Just let me know what adjustments need to be made,” he says over his shoulder, “and try not to emotionally damage our model. I’m getting coffee.”

Alex grabs his necessities—notepad and pen, tailor’s chalk, pins—and huffs a quiet _thank you_ when Michael is in the clothes, on the platform, and silent by the time he turns around. He gets to work, eyeing the fit of the garments from afar and then going over every inch meticulously, checking hems and lines, tugging and rearranging and smoothing the fabric to his satisfaction. He jots down notes and adjustments for Kyle as he works, single-minded in his task. Occasionally he murmurs commands in a low, distracted voice, directing his model to “turn around” or “hold still,” but as he sinks deeper into his work he mostly communicates with touch, decorum utterly forgot. He turns Michael to the side with strong hands on his hips, runs his palms all the way down the slope of his shoulders to his wrists, checking the length of the jacket’s sleeves. He wraps long fingers around Michael’s ankles, one after the other, and twists each leg out, fingers dancing up his inner thighs, and he hums as he jots a note to Kyle to take in the right pant leg, just a quarter inch.

He’s completely forgotten there’s another human in his space until he hears a soft sigh from above. He glances up and Michael looks totally calm, almost blissed out. His lids are heavy and he’s smiling softly, a total transformation from his cocky, brazen persona on the runway or even just half an hour ago.

“How you doing up there?” Alex asks, taking a hand off of Michael’s left calf to make a quick note. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Michael breathes, so softly that Alex almost misses the quiet “sir” he tacks onto the end.

Alex feels a rush of heat, but schools his features carefully.

“If we’re doing this right, you should really call me ‘Captain,’” he says casually, giving Michael’s ankle a light squeeze. “Do you want to be good for me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Michael answers immediately, breath ending on a soft whine.

Alex stands quickly, slipping easily into military posture and seeking out Michael’s hazy gaze.

“That’s enough,” he says firmly, and Michael immediately shifts, straightening his shoulders and facing Alex directly, body completely open to him.

“You have a runway to walk and a competition to win me,” Alex says steadily, “so strip. I’ve got adjustments to make.”

Michael is out of the clothes comically fast, but he’s gentle with them, passing the garments to Alex reverently and then standing motionless in his boxer briefs, half-hard and completely unashamed.

Alex smiles.

“Save that for later,” he murmurs, then scoops Michael’s clothes off the floor and hands them to him. “Get dressed and grab lunch. Kyle should be finished with alterations by then.”

“You got it, Captain,” Michael says, a bit of the fog clearing from his eyes and a flash of his old attitude creeping back into his tone.

Alex bites his lip and turns toward their work station, setting the garments down and pretending to check his notes. His focus—at least as it pertains to work—is shot, his body hyper-aware of Michael’s every movement as he slips back into his clothes and ambles off toward the craft services table, stopping to talk briefly to Kyle and another model on his way. Alex knows this is a delicious, but possibly disastrous turn of events.

Kyle sets a cup of coffee down in front of Alex when he returns, looking over Alex’s shoulder at his notes.

“So, seems like you didn’t ruin him then,” Kyles jokes.

Alex is always honest with Kyle; that’s why their friendship and their partnership has thrived. He turns to Kyle, eyes wide.

“No, but I think he might have ruined me.”


	2. Project Fuck Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will most likely be adding more parts to this AU, though not necessarily chronologically. I’ll tag it Malex Fashion AU on Tumblr. I'm at foramomentonly if you'd like to follow me!

Alex rarely freaks out, but when he does Kyle is there.

After his heated exchange with their new model, Alex spirals just a little. They’ve been working towards this goal—creative independence, stability, even a modicum of success—for years. They’ve encountered so many obstacles, some they can never overcome—the show might bill itself as diverse, but the fashion industry as a whole is not, and they’ve both felt the effects of systemic racism on their work and brand. They’ve made personal sacrifices, holed up in their studio so many late nights neglecting partners, work obligations, and family. Alex will never forget that Kyle was in the studio when he got the call saying his father had passed. But Michael’s warm honey eyes and the way his body went liquid under Alex’s touch and command left Alex buzzing down to his fingertips, and he feels a choking weight on his chest at even the thought of denying Michael his attention and care.

He tells all this to Kyle right there at their work station, Kyle again bent over a sewing machine making alterations and Alex leaning casually beside him against the large drafting table, murmuring low. Kyle is blunt and level-headed, as always.

“It’s not ideal,” he admits, “but it isn’t like either of us has never had a fling with someone we were working with before. And you’re nothing if not an expert at compartmentalizing.”

“I thought that was a bad thing,” Alex deadpans.

Kyle shrugs.

“Maybe not in this situation.”

Kyle looks up at Alex fretting, and his eyes go soft. 

“Look, man, I trust you,” he says, “and there is nothing you alone could do to tank this for us.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but the clench of his jaw releases and Kyle can tell the storm has passed.

It helps that Michael kills it on the runway and they easily win the challenge. When they’re asked to choose a model for the next round, Kyle requests Michael without even a glance at his partner.

***

Alex watches Michael from across the studio as he hangs their newest pieces on a rack and arranges accessories. He’s holding court with a few models who just arrived, killing time while their designers finalize alterations and hunt down accent pieces. This week is a streetwear challenge, neither Alex nor Kyle’s strong suits, and Alex created this design—drop leg overall shorts, mesh crop top with a faux turtleneck, military jacket, and combat boots—to play off of Michael’s cocky, easy masculinity. His presence on the runway is built into the design, and Alex has a plan to put Michael in a calm, focused headspace. But first his model needs to get his chatty ass to Alex’s station. 

Alex continues to stare in Michael’s direction until Michael senses his gaze, turning his head slowly over his shoulder. Michael raises a suggestive eyebrow at Alex when he meets Alex’s eye, but the designer merely glares first at Michael, then at the model’s platform set up behind his work station. Michael barely makes an excuse to his group before turning on his heel and striding Alex’s way. Alex puts on his most authoritative face, the one he used in the Air Force when he needed to pull rank, and he watches Michael approach with what can only be described as a giddy swagger, all hips and shoulders, his hands shoved in his front pockets. He skips onto the small platform and smiles down at Alex. They face each other for a long moment, Michael's grin disappearing as he raises a hesitant brow. 

"Clothes," Alex says simply, and Michael's tee shirt is on the ground before Alex can even finish his command. Alex licks his lips, and Michael trips over his boot and almost topples over as he rids himself of his jeans, shoes, and socks.

"Careful," Alex chuckles mildly.

Michael is down to his briefs and he steps forward to take the garments off the rack.

"Stop," Alex spits sharply, and Michael freezes, shuffling back to neutral with his head low. Alex steps into his space, reaching for the clothing.

"It's better if I do it," he says softly, "there’s a lot of layers."

Michael  _ trembles _ .

Alex takes the main piece off the rack and readies the garment, unfastening the clasps and buttons. He squats at Michael's feet and wraps a hand around his left ankle, encouraging him to lift his foot. Michael responds immediately and Alex guides his left, then right foot into the legs of the pants, rising slowly in front of Michael as he pulls the lower half of the design up his long, lean body. There are buttons on both sides, and Alex fastens them with nimble fingers, eyes boring into Michael's. Michael breathes heavy, uneven, his whole body a live wire. 

"This okay?" Alex asks softly.

Michael blurts out, "Green," and Alex smiles. Traffic light safewords it is.

"Good," Alex breathes, and Michael's eyes go dark.

Alex is surprised how easy it is to find a balance between his work and the scene. Michael responds instantly to Alex's slightest touch, raising his arms when Alex takes his wrists and lifts them into the air, tilting his head back slightly while Alex adjusts the faux collar on his shirt. Alex is only distracted once, caught up in the rhythmic bob of Michael's throat, his Adam's Apple working under the thin fabric. He cups Michael's neck, knuckles brushing his unruly curls, and lays his thumb lightly on the knob, the gentlest pressure. Michael whines. 

"Yellow," he says, and Alex immediately pulls back, looking into Michael's eyes. 

"You've got work to do, Captain," he says simply, and Alex nods, pulling in a deep, steadying breath.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Michael’s breath hitches, eyes bright and proud, and Alex smiles warmly, adds, “So good for me,” just to watch Michael squirm at the praise.

Michael is perfectly pliant the rest of the process, resting his feet one after the other on Alex’s thigh so that he can lace up the intricate boots, eyes never leaving Alex’s face as he stands inches away, smoothing and tugging and adjusting his design on Michael’s body. Alex listens to Michael’s steady breath, glances at his warm, focused gaze, and smiles. 

"All done,” he murmurs, hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Now let's get you pretty, sweetheart." 

Alex slides a warm, dry hand low on the small of Michael's back. He keeps it there, pressure light and steady, all the way to hair and make-up, where Kyle is waiting for them. Michael sits perfectly still as Alex discusses he and Kyle's preferences with the make-up artist, tilting Michael's chin up with a knuckle and running his index finger gently across a cheekbone. The technician is too focused to notice the way Michael gazes up at Alex dreamily, the way he leans into Alex's touch. 

Alex finishes his instructions and she's off, occasionally requesting that Michael turn his head or close his eyes. She misses how Michael grows restless and agitated the more she directs him, but Alex and Kyle don't. Alex lays a casual hand on the back of Michael's neck and squeezes gently, and the gesture seems to soothe him. Kyle looks sideways at Alex, but says nothing.

The designers sign off on Michael’s look and walk him to the runway set’s makeshift backstage, where the other models and designers are exchanging final notes and instructions. Kyle wishes Michael good luck and escapes quickly to the designer’s lounge where they’ll watch the models walk on mounted flatscreens. Alex offers Michael one last steady smile, gaze traveling up and down the length of his model’s body searching for lingering discomfort or distraction after his unease in hair and make-up. He finds none.

“When you’re done showing off for me out there,” Alex says casually, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips, “hang around for a bit. Might as well help you get  _ out _ of those clothes, too.”

He turns and walks away to the sound of Michael’s breathless, “ _ Please _ .”

***

The workroom is  _ finally _ nearly cleared out, only a few straggling models and designers making plans for an after party at the hotel bar. Alex intentionally arranged his, Kyle, and Michael’s post-runway interview to be the last of the evening and hustled Kyle away easily, so no one questions why he and Michael are lingering an hour after filming has wrapped. Michael is still in Alex’s design, his make-up smudged and caked where he perspired under the blazing runway lights and then cooled in the green room during their interview. Alex pulls a wipe out of his bag and passes it over.

“You want to clean up, sweetheart?” Michael gazes at him imploringly, but Alex shakes his head, side-eyeing the lingering group. “I can’t, not yet. You have to do it yourself.”

Michael pouts at a burst of laughter from the stragglers as he wipes his face roughly. Alex bites his lip, stifling a grin; he hadn’t anticipated waiting this long for privacy, but Michael’s sulk is equal parts endearing and arousing. They don’t end up waiting long. Plans arranged, the group finally calls out a lukewarm goodbye to Alex and a more genuine one to Michael, and then they’re gone, the thick double doors of the studio slamming shut behind them. 

Alex immediately steps into Michael’s space, gripping his chin with one hand. He’s managed only to make a mess of his face: mascara streaked across his temples, liner smudged, lips bruised but still glossy. His curls were fluffed and then sprayed for effect, and now they’re chaotic and look rough to the touch. As Alex continues to crowd his space, eyes cataloging his features possessively and Michael’s face firmly in his grasp, Michael’s lips part and his breathing accelerates, pupils dilating. Alex tsks softly in the back of his throat.

“Look at you,” he purs, “so wrecked and I’ve barely touched you.”

“So touch me,” Michael challenges, voice gruff.

Alex lets his thumb travel up Michael’s chin and pull at his full bottom lip. Michal’s mouth drops open farther and Alex slips his thumb in, groaning softly when Michael wraps his tongue around it and sucks greedily. He’s so turned on, the low, hot pulse of control he’s felt all day ramped up by his own desire for this impossibly gorgeous man. But for all that Michael seems eager to take things further, Alex is desperate to check in. He pull his thumb out gently and cups Michael’s cheek, leaving a trail of wet across the side of his mouth.

“Color?” he asks, and then, “How far do you want this to go? Be specific.”

“Green,” Michael says, “so green. And I want you to fuck me. Captain.”

Alex lets out a ragged breath, pushes his fingers into the crunchy curls at the nape of Michael’s neck, and drags him into a kiss. It isn’t gentle or timid; it’s starting in the middle, all teeth and tongue and hot breath. Michael shoves his hands under Alex’s shirt to feel his overheated skin and the twist of muscle as he moves, dragging biting nails down his back. Alex holds him in place, setting the pace of the kiss, but letting Michael play. He pulls away when Michael maneuvers himself between Alex’s thigh and grinds his hard cock against him. 

“Nuh uh,” Alex says, “we’re not there yet.”

He steps back fully and Michael whines.

“I promised I’d help you out of those clothes,” he teases. “Have you changed your mind?”

Michael shakes his head.

“All right then,” Alex says, “stay still for me. I’ll do all the work.”

Alex circles him, considering his options and dragging it out a little. He finally comes behind Michael and slips the jacket off his shoulders, close enough to bite down on the meat of his left shoulder and neck with his teeth. Michael hisses and he soothes the bite with a wet kiss.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Alex whispers, breath hot against his ear, “I got you.”

He undresses Michael maddeningly slowly, teasing him relentlessly. He glides his finger tips up Michael’s ribs as he rids him of his shirt, traces his collar bone with soft, parted lips as he unclasps the bib of his overalls. Once Michael’s chest is bare, he places hot, wet kisses down the broad expanse of it, stopping to suck and bite at each nipple. Michael whimpers and when Alex looks up he sees his bottom lip is bitten swollen and red, but he stays perfectly still.

“So good for me,” Alex breathes, unhooking the final buttons and pushing the shorts down Michael’s body to pool at his feet, taking his briefs with them. With Michael’s hard, lithe body finally bare before him he feels lightheaded. Alex leans in and kisses him again, hands low on Michael’s hips, stealing the oxygen straight from his lungs. His hand sinks lower and he palms Michael’s right cheek, index finger slipping down his crack to press against his dry hole. Michael gasps and bucks, pressing himself against Alex’s hand. Alex lets himself explore, circling and rubbing the tight muscle, sliding even lower to press at his perineum. Michael’s cock is leaking, pre-cum staining Alex’s jeans.

“ _ Alex _ ,” Michael groans, and hearing his name sends a rush of heat straight to his cock.

“Bend over the table, sweetheart.” 

His command is breathless, but Michael obeys instantly, scrambling around Alex and draping himself over the large drafting table, forehead pillowed by his forearm. Alex grabs the small bottle of lube and condom from his bag and presses himself flush against Michael, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching against Michael’s bare ass and legs. He sets the condom on the table and pops the top on the lube, coating a single finger and pressing and rubbing between Michael’s spread cheeks. He takes his time, working his finger in up to the first knuckle, then the second, until he’s pumping the whole digit in and out slowly, pressing down as he drags out. Michael’s hips work in time with his finger, and he’s wiggling and huffing restlessly by the time Alex coats another finger and works it in, too. He peppers kisses to Michael’s low back as he works, whispering praises into his damp skin. When he starts scissoring his fingers, spreading Michael’s hole and testing the give, Michael moans.

“Come  _ on _ ,” he huffs, “want you so bad.”

“Want you, too, sweetheart,” Alex breathes, quickly coating a third finger and working all three into Michael’s hole. “You should see yourself right now. Stretched and taking my fingers so well.”

Alex rests his cheek against Michael’s back, sliding deep into him and pressing, searching until he hits the spot that makes Michael cry out.

“Oh, fuck.  _ Fuck _ .”

“There you are,” Alex smiles and bites gently at Michael’s ass cheek.

“ _ God _ ,” Michael gasps as Alex continues to work that same spot, drunk on Michael’s groans and the way he’s fucking himself on Alex’s hand.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Michael babbles, “I swear. Wanna feel it.”

“Okay,” Alex says, stretching his fingers wide one last time, and pulls out, leaving Michael whining. He finally opens his jeans, tugging them down over his cock and groaning loudly when he’s finally free. His underwear is soaked, and it’s a bit uncomfortable to tuck them beneath his balls, but he’s not ready for the conversation they’d have to have if he took off his pants entirely. He rolls the condom down his cock and slicks himself, rubbing his thumb around Michael’s hole and pressing in to keep him open as he preps himself. He lines himself up, bending over Michael’s back and wrapping an arm around his waist. When he pushes just the head of his cock in, Michael  _ growls  _ and pushes back against him, taking him in fully.

“Shit,” Alex cries, hands gripping Michael’s hips. “Oh, god, I’m not gonna last.”

“Me either,” Michael replies, voice slurred with pleasure. “ _ Please _ , Alex.”

Alex slides the hand on Michael’s waist down to wrap around his cock, relishing Michael’s hiss and the way he clenches around Alex’s cock. He pumps his hips at the same rhythmic pace as his strips Michael’s cock, his free hand snaking up Michael’s back and into his hair.

“You feel so  _ good _ ,” Alex pants, pausing to grind deep and work his cock against Michael’s prostate. He rolls the head of Michael’s cock in his hand, fingers sticky with pre-cum.

Michael throws his head back and comes without warning, his cock pulsing in Alex’s grip. He’s still and breathing evenly as he comes down, but Alex doesn’t move, kicking himself that can’t see Michael’s face from this angle. He scratches fingernails gently across his scalp and rubs his back soothingly until Michael shifts back, pressing weakly against him where Alex is still inside him.

“Gonna finish what you started?” he mumbled, sounding sated and a little loopy.

“You okay there?” Alex asks with a laugh, caressing Michael’s cheek when he turns his head to look back at him.

“Will be when you come in me, Captain,” he says, and bites at Alex’s palm. Alex huffs and pulls almost completely out, pressing in slowly to test Michael’s sensitivity. He groans, but leans into it, goading Alex on with a soft, “Yeah, come on.”

Alex works back up to a steady pace, but he’s been hard and aching for so long, and Michael is a sight beneath him, hair a mess and back twisted to stare shamelessly at Alex with hazy eyes. His hips snap faster and he loses his rhythm as he chases his own release, digging blunt nails into Michael’s shoulders to hold his loose body steady. He comes with his eyes locked on Michael’s, mouth dropping open and a choked off moan on his lips, working his hips lazily as he shudders through the aftershocks. 

Alex presses his forehead to Michael’s back, kissing the knobs of his spine and pushing his own sweaty hair out of his face. He pulls out slowly, but Michael still hisses, and Alex gets a look at his swollen hole before Michael stands and turns around, pressing his naked body against Alex’s fully clothed one to nuzzle against his neck.

“You were so good,” Alex praises, arms immediately wrapping around Michael, one hand snaking again into his hair, “so good for me.”

Michael laughs against his skin.

“I could tell.” 

Alex’s grip in his hair turns to a tug as he pulls Michael’s head back, and Michael grins smugly. 

“You’re still a mess,” Alex chastizes, taking in the make-up still smeared across Michael’s face, the nest of his curls, and the cum beginning to dry on his stomach and chest. 

“I’m your mess now,” Michael says, and though his eyes are bright and playful, his tone is sincere.

“Yeah,” Alex says steadily, brushing a curl out of Michael’s face and watching a genuine smile spread across his face, “you are.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has been expecting this, is honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner...What he isn’t prepared for is Michael’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes after Parts One and Two chronologically, but I will most likely include later parts that occur before this one.
> 
> The Spanish was done to the best of my limited abilities. If it’s wrong or straight up gibberish, I’d love to be corrected.

Alex has been expecting this, is honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. **  
**

They’ve used Michael as their model the past three challenges and coasted through each one. They didn’t win streetwear—and weren’t expecting to—but they weren’t up for elimination and they came close to taking the past two challenges. And while Alex isn’t humble enough to think it’s all Michael selling their designs on the runway with his languid stride and truly indecent head tilt, it’s clear he’s an asset, and he’s becoming a highly-coveted commodity in the workroom. Alex breathed these exact sentiments into his ear just the other afternoon, pressing Michael against the wall of the studio bathroom with his whole body, one hand fisting both their cocks and the other gripping Michael’s chin, two fingers stuffed in his mouth to keep him quiet. Michael came so hard at the praise and the wicked twist of Alex’s wrist that he bit down hard enough to break the skin of Alex’s fingers, and Alex is only lucky it’s so common for designers to have multiple bandaged digits. 

So he’s isn’t shocked at all when the judges gather them together, models and designers alike, and announce that they’re switching things up, and each team will choose a new model.

What he isn’t prepared for is Michael’s reaction. He’s picked up quickly by a team of sisters who create their own graphic prints and patterns for all their fabrics. Alex tries to stay attune to him throughout the week—they’re only a few work stations away—but he has his own project to focus on and he’s been designing with Michael’s body in mind—not to mention under his hands—for so long that the transition is jarring. He hears little bits of gossip, mostly through Kyle, though, and it’s not good. There are ridiculous rumors about sabotage, that Michael has agreed to phone it in with other teams to boost Alex and Kyle’s chances in exchange for regular work once the show wraps. And then there are the jokes about Michael preferring Alex’s “firm hand” that leave Alex livid and Kyle looking uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that Michael and Rosa, the visionary behind the sisters’ dynamic prints, are clashing. He’s sullen and moody, and he doesn’t respond well to Rosa’s dry humor and abstract direction. 

A day before the runway shoot, during their initial fittings, Alex and Kyle are discussing the hem of a skirt with their new model Maria when there is a frustrated growl from their left, followed by a loud rip.

“¡Que chingados estás haciendo!” Rosa shouts, and Michael glares at her. 

The seam on the right sleeve of the shirt he’s wearing is torn, and Michael is looking from Rosa to the loose fabric hanging off his shoulder and back again. He gestures to the sleeve and spits something indiscernible back at her, and Rosa throws up her hands. Her sister Liz waves her off and puts a hand on Michael’s arm, and he seems to soften just a bit, but his eyes flit towards Alex and back again restlessly. Alex forces himself to turn back to his own work.

Then there’s Michael’s runway performance. He doesn’t trip or miss a mark—he’s a professional, after all—but his walk is listless and his expression under the bright, colorful make-up he’s wearing is severe, off-putting. In the designer’s lounge, Rosa is fuming, hissing at Liz in rapid-fire Spanish Alex couldn’t hope to follow, but based on the way Kyle winces, she’s not being kind. At the judge’s panel they receive warm, if muted praise for their design, and Alex credits Rosa for not publicly calling out Michael’s underwhelming display. But even the judges notice, and one asks Michael kindly if he’s feeling all right.

“Just having an off week,” he mumbles, and the judges commiserate before moving on. 

Alex watches Michael change quickly and escape out of the studio minutes after his team's post-runway interview is through, and he decides to take a necessary risk. He pulls out his phone while Maria slips behind their privacy partition and sends Michael a text.

_My room at 10:30._

Michael responds instantly.

_You got it, Captain._

***

Michael begins to babble the second the door to Alex’s room safely shuts behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. “I fucked up, I shouldn’t have let it get to me. I just hated having someone else’s hands on me and I-”

“On your knees,” Alex interrupts him.

Michael blinks and begins to lower himself, but there’s a flash of panic in his eyes that has Alex stepping forward to stop him, the hand not on his crutch gripping his bicep gently.

“Wait,” Alex says, “wait. I messed up. I didn’t check in with you first. I’m sorry.” 

Michael straightens and faces him.

“I know that you had a tough week,” Alex says, “and I want to give you what you need right now. But this isn’t a punishment. I need you to know that. You didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

Alex pauses, searching Michael’s eyes for understanding. He looks worn down and a little hesitant, but as Alex’s words sink in his eyes gleam a little brighter.

“I want to give you what you need, sweetheart,” Alex says, and Michael’s cheeks flush, “but I need you to tell me exactly what that is so I don’t mess up and make things worse like I almost did just now.”

Michael pauses, looking uncertain.

“Take your time,” Alex soothes.

“I want to be good for you,” Michael whispers, “I just want to show you I can be good.”

“You _are_ good for me,” Alex assures him, “you always are. What do you want tonight?”

Michael shuts his eyes and breathes deep.

“I want to feel like I’m yours again,” he whines softly. “I hated this week, I hated feeling like I didn’t belong to you anymore.”

His eyes open and they’re dark and hazy. Alex feels his cock fill at the sight of his needy gaze.

“On your knees,” he breathes, gentler this time, and Michael hits the floor in front of him.

Alex takes a step back and lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, laying his crutch on the floor beside him. He’d debated leaving his prosthetic on before Michael arrived, not wanting to limit himself or what he could give, but it had been a long day on his feet and his leg was already stiff, hip aching. He was settling into the idea of exposing the more vulnerable parts of his identity, of his life to someone other than Kyle, but this is the first time he’ll be naked in this way during a scene. It feels like a turning point.

Alex spreads his legs wide and curls a finger at Michael.

“Come here.”

Michael moves unsteadily on his knees until he’s kneeling between Alex’s legs. He sits back on his heels and rests his hands on the top of his thighs, looking up at Alex eagerly. Alex chuckles.

“Look at you,” he coos, “so perfect on your knees for me.”

He reaches out and cups Michael’s face gently in his hands, guiding him up and pulling him close. Alex holds him there for just a moment, noses brushing, Michael’s warm breath on his cheek. Michael whimpers softly and something in Alex breaks wide open. He crashes forward, pulling Michael into a kiss that’s all tongue and wet heat. His hands slide into Michael’s curls and tug lightly, biting down on Michael’s bottom lip when he moans into Alex’s mouth. Michael’s hands slide up his thighs, squeezing and kneading his aching muscles. Alex tilts his head back and groans, letting Michael suck wet kisses up the column of his neck. Hands sliding down to Michael’s shoulders, Alex pushes him gently back until he’s settled again on his heels. Alex takes a moment to refocus, watching Michael succumb to the comfort of Alex’s control. He’s still and whining softly, pupils blown and cock a hard line against his thigh, a dark spot staining his jeans where he’s leaking precum. He looks gorgeous, already wrecked, and Alex decides to play with him.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, sweetheart,” he purrs, and Michael sinks further into his focused haze. “Think about you all the time. Fantasize about you. Your long legs and that stupid curl that’s always in your eyes.”

Alex watches Michael watching him, waits until he can catch his heated gaze before continuing.

“Your _mouth_ ,” he breathes, spreading his legs wider and squeezing his aching cock through his sweatpants, holding Michael’s gaze throughout. “You’re so good with that gorgeous mouth, baby, _God_.” 

Alex throws his head back as he snakes his hand into his pants, stroking himself slowly, deliberately. He hears Michael shift and whine, but ignores him, his breath catching as he rolls the head of his cock between his fingers.

“Dream about it,” he pants, leaning back on one elbow to give Michael a view of the long line of his torso. He’s already shirtless and he knows the hard muscles of his abdomen make Michael’s mouth water. “Dream about you on your knees, sucking me under the table while I work. I wake up so hard for you, Michael.”

“ _Alex_ ,” Michael pleads, and Alex tilts his head forward to find Michael up on his knees again, practically drooling, eyes wide and locked on where Alex is stroking himself inside his sweats. 

Alex smirks, looks down at himself casually.

“Did you want to help, sweetheart?” he asks innocently, and Michael nods eagerly, still focused on the movement of Alex’s hand. The waistband of his sweats snaps against his stomach as Alex pulls out his hand and leans back on both elbows across the bed, spreading himself open for Michael.

“Use your words,” he teases, “and look at me.”

Michael tears his eyes away from Alex’s body and meets his gaze, saying, “Please let me blow you, Captain.”

Alex makes a sweeping motion with his hand, a silent _go ahead_ , and Michael leans forward, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Alex’s sweats and dragging them down when Alex raises his hips. He hovers over Alex’s lap and grips his cock at the base, licking his lips. His tongue sneaks out for a taste of the liquid welling at the tip and he groans, sinking down until his lips meet his own fingers in one sudden movement. Alex’s toes curl as his whole universe is reduced to the wet heat of Michael’s mouth enveloping him. Michael draws his lips back up slowly, his tongue tracing the thick vein on Alex’s shaft and curling around the head.

“Dream about this, too,” he whispers, his lips brushing the sensitive head of Alex’s cock and sending shivers up his spine. Michael takes a deep, trembling breath and takes Alex’s wrist, guiding it to the back of his neck as he sinks down again onto his cock. Alex squeezes his neck lightly, hissing as Michael begins to work him over with his mouth and hand, sucking and twisting in a steady rhythm. From his position on his elbow Alex has a glorious view of Michael’s red mouth swallowing his cock over and over.

“God, _your mouth_ ,” he moans almost unconsciously, moving his hand from Michael’s neck to his jaw, feeling it work around him and tracing the corner of Michael’s mouth with his thumb. Michael pulls his hand away and slides his mouth lower still, taking Alex’s cock into the back of his throat. He holds himself there and groans, sending vibrations shooting up Alex’s cock and making him curl in on himself, his hands flying to Michael’s head to keep him in place. 

“Oh, fuck,” he cries, working his hips in shallow pumps. But it’s too much and he feels Michael choke around him. He uses his grip in Michael’s hair to pull him off.

“Yellow,” Michael rasps before Alex can even ask, resting his cheek against Alex’s thigh and breathing unevenly. “I just need a minute.”

“Take your time,” Alex says, stroking his sweaty hair away from his face. “You can finish me off with your hand, if you want.”

Michael swallows and wraps his fingers around Alex’s shaft, squeezing. 

“Will you still come in my mouth?” he asks, and Alex groans.

“ _Jesus_. Course I will, sweetheart.”

Alex isn’t going to last, between the scratch of Michael’s voice, his filthy request, and the way he’s squeezing the head of Alex’s cock with every pass. Alex leans back as Michael rises up to curl over his lap, stroking faster over his length as Alex’s moans and works his hips.

“Gonna come,” Alex warns, dropping his head back. He feels Michael wrap his lips around the head of his cock, sucking hard, and Alex cries out as he shoots down Michael’s throat and across his lips when he pulls off Alex’s cock, still working him over with insistent fingers. 

Alex is still breathing heavy, but he sits up and cups Michael’s jaw, watches him lazily licking Alex’s cum off his lips and hand.

“Do you want-” Alex starts, but Michael shakes his head, looking shamelessly down his own body. Alex follows his gaze and huffs a laugh. Michael pulls his hand out of his open pants, sticky with his own release.

“Oops,” he says smugly, and Alex raises an eyebrow at him.

“Do you _want_ to be punished?”

Michael grins lazily and shrugs. 

“Another time I could be into it.”

Alex smiles softly at him, shaking his head. 

“Go to the bathroom and bring me a wet towel,” he says. Michael uses Alex’s thighs for leverage as he stands, stealing a kiss when he’s at eye level.

When he comes back, Alex has his pants on and Michael tilts his head in confusion. Alex doesn’t explain, just holds out his hand. Michael hands him the towel.

“Good boy. Now, strip.”

When Michael is completely naked Alex beckons him closer.

“Lean down,” he says, and when Michael bends to his level Alex catches his face in his hands and wipes the warm, wet cloth over his mouth and cheek, cleaning up his mess. Alex meets his eyes, gaze warm and steady, and Michael’s face breaks open, happy and dazed. Alex takes each of Michael’s hands in his and works the towel over them, then instructs him to stand as he gently wipes Michael’s stomach and groin, folding the towel over to a clean section before he passes it over his soft cock. When he’s through, he tosses the towel aside and points to the dresser behind Michael.

“Bring those to me.”

Michael hands Alex the worn tee shirt and sweatpants folded neatly on the top of the dresser. Alex shakes out the sweats—they aren’t brand new, but they’re new enough that he hasn’t cut and tied off the leg yet.

“I want to dress you,” he says, looking away as a rush of shame and uncertainty passes over him, “but I can’t do that standing. Will you-”

He feels Michael’s hands on his shoulders and he looks up. Michael stands before him, bracing himself on Alex with one leg raised in the air, bent at a 90-degree angle. Alex fumbles for a moment, but slides the sweats on one leg at a time this way, pulling them up Michael’s hips slowly. Michael squats so Alex can tug the shirt over his head, and Michael’s fingers linger on the faded Air Force emblem on the chest. 

“How do you feel?” Alex asks softly.

“Warm, safe,” Michael answers honestly. “ _Owned_.”

Alex pulls him in close, kissing him slowly and drawing out a soft whimper when he sucks lightly on Michael’s bottom lip.

“Keep them,” Alex breathes, clasping Michael’s hand over the seal on his chest. “Wear them when you feel like you did this week. I don’t care who notices.”

He meets Michael’s amber eyes and strokes his jaw, soothing Michael’s hesitation.

“I take care of what’s mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is in pain. Michael earns his trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place between Chapters Two and Three. I honestly should have done these as a series, but I didn't want to title each freaking one.

It's a bad day. Alex knows it the second he opens his eyes. He tries to sit up in bed and feels his hip seize and a shooting, all-encompassing pain travel from the hinge of his joint all the way down his stump and into the empty space that still aches like it remembers what it felt like to be whole. He suffers through his morning exercises that do jack shit on days like this and showers. His crutch is leaning against the dresser as he searches a drawer for clean clothes, and even though he longs to say _fuck_ _it_ and take it with him, he steels himself and instead digs out his prescription painkillers—the ones you absolutely do not fuck around with—and swallows a single pill dry, stuffing the bottle in his pocket in preparation for a long, agonizing day in the studio.

When he and Kyle were first selected for the show, Alex requested a sit-down with the producers. He got fifteen minutes. He used them to explain, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be talking on camera about his prosthesis or his partial loss of limb in the line of duty. His feelings about his military service are ambivalent. It’s shaped who he has become in ways Alex both values and, on days when he disassociates and feels his grasp on his own humanity go slippery and loose, fears. But he would not allow himself to become a sympathetic poster child on a potentially global scale for streaming’s brand of heartwarming American nationalism—a decorated vet, a queer, Indigenous man who put his body on the line for a country that really does love and respect him after all. The producers played dumb at first, but in the face of Alex’s commanding insistence, they agreed Alex will never be asked directly about his time in the Air Force and, at his discretion, he will only be filmed from the waist up.

The moment they arrive at the studio, driven in from their hotel at an ungodly hour, Alex finds the producer on set and lets them know today is one of those days. When he meets Kyle at their work station he’s touched, but not surprised to find a low stool with a thin seat cushion waiting for him. He and Kyle have shared space for so long—and shared confidences for even longer—that his partner could no doubt tell Alex is in pain simply from the tight line of his mouth and the twitch of his brow when he hefted himself in and out of the large studio van.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, sliding onto the stool and adjusting himself so the pain radiating down his thigh is at a dull, insistent ache rather than a sharp, agonizing jolt. Kyle, a master class in discretion, barely spares him a glance.

“You let them know?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got a lot of hem work to do, before and after Michael gets here,” he warns.

“I know.”

“I can take the bulk of it-”

“No,” Alex says, shutting him down swiftly.

Kyle purses his lips, but doesn’t argue.

***

Michael ambles into the studio with the other models a little after midday. He forces himself to play it casual, wandering over to craft services and making small talk with a designer taking a quick coffee break. But his gaze seeks out Alex across the room, and he grounds himself with deep breaths and the bite of his own nails against his palm to keep from dropping to his knees on the spot. Alex is working with a garment on their dress form, intent and focused, all broad shoulders and perfect posture. He runs a hand across the chest, smoothing the fabric in wide, sure strokes, and Michael licks his lips, misses whatever inane comment was just made in his direction, and he knows he isn’t going to last long.

The first time he’d seen Alex, Michael had assumed he was looking at a fellow professional. Alex’s dark features, his dramatic cheekbones and brow, and the toned body evident underneath an unassuming t-shirt all screamed  _ model _ . Not to mention those lips. When he was introduced as a designer, one half of a buzz-worthy menswear brand made up of a former Air Force captain and a med school graduate, Michael secretly hoped he’d get a chance to work with them. He loves modeling for so many reasons. He craves the positive attention his looks and swagger bring him—nothing wrong with that—and he finds creative expression in being part of realizing an artist’s vision on the runway or in front of a camera. But the first time an impatient and harried designer had used Michael’s body like a life-size doll, manhandling him into positions and movements with little more than a gruff “up,” he had experienced a bone-deep satisfaction in relinquishing his body and his agency to another person that brought a whole new level of fulfillment to his work. It’s comforting and secure and, on occasion, incredibly erotic. He starts identifying parallel dynamics in his personal life—Isobel basically doms him into doing stupid shit every other week—and seeking it out in his sex life. Still, no professional experience or carefully-planned scene had ever felt like the toe-curling, mind-melting experience of receiving a command or a touch from Alex Manes. 

Michael manages to idle a few more minutes for appearance’s sake before heading over for his consult. Alex and Kyle stand side to side, dark heads drawn together over a what appears to be a task list at the same table Michael had found himself bent over just last week, surrendering completely to Alex’s precise, wicked whims. Just the memory excites him, and Michael practically skips up to his designers’ station. He reaches out a hand and raps his knuckles on the thick tabletop for attention.

“Knock, knock,” he drawls, grinning cheekily at Alex. Alex barely cracks a smile, but that’s hardly unusual. The more stoic Alex is, Michael’s coming to realize, and the more brusque his commands, the more gorgeous it is when he inevitably comes apart. 

Kyle smiles affably.

“Hi, Guerin,” he says, moving to take their garments off the dress form, and Michael lets his smile fall slightly when Alex keeps his back to him at the table, knuckles white as he grips the edge almost as if for balance.

“So, for now we’ll just ask you to try on the skirt-pants,” Kyle explains, leading him up onto the base, “but could you also take off your shirt? It’ll just be in Alex’s way while he’s making adjustments.”

Michael watches Kyle return to Alex’s side and speak low into his ear, a hand hovering over the small of Alex’s back. He knows better than to be suspicious of Alex and Kyle’s relationship—it’s clearly a deep, brotherly bond—but Kyle almost seems to be taking care of Alex and, well, Michael wants to be the one to do that.

“I’ll bring you a water,” Kyle says in a louder voice, heading off towards the back of the studio, and Michael fumbles to get changed as Alex turns abruptly towards him, supplies in hand. 

“I could have brought you something,” Michael says, “I was over there.”

“It’s fine,” Alex answers briskly, setting his materials on the edge of the base and lowering himself slowly into a squat. He glances up at Michael and maybe he senses Michael’s anxiety or maybe he’d just been preoccupied before, but his face softens and he offers a warm, soothing smile.

“I”m sorry, beautiful,” he murmurs, and Michael feels like his body and mind are sinking slowly into a warm, sweet-smelling pool. “Step forward for me.”

Michael steps closer and Alex’s fingers immediately curl around his ankle, squeezing lightly. 

“I’m gonna be down here for awhile,” Alex says, voice clear, but a tad strained. “Stay still for me, sweetheart.”

Michael breathes deep, lets the weight of the command sit heavy on his shoulders, straighten his spine, anchor his feet to the ground. And then he lets himself float, mind clear and body featherlight, Alex’s touch guiding his movements and keeping him grounded. Maybe ten minutes pass, maybe an hour. Michael is only sure of the light press of Alex’s grip on his ankle and the brush of his fingertips across a shin or up his thigh. Alex is quiet, diligent as he works, but the occasional gentle squeeze and soft, “There you go.” is all Michael needs to know he’s done good.

At some point, Alex’s hand slides up his leg, gripping tight on his calf. Michael expects to be guided into a different position or angle, but instead, Alex groans and adjusts his own stance, cupping the back of his right thigh and glowering when he briefly loses his balance and digs blunt fingernails into Michael’s calf to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his palm over the crescent moons indented in Michael’s skin. 

“It’s okay,” Michael replies, looking down assuringly at Alex.

Alex begins to rise slowly, his mouth a tight grimace, and Michael realizes he’s sweating lightly. He lets his arm jut out subtly, bending slightly at the elbow, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Alex grips his forearm tightly to pull himself the rest of the way to standing. Circling Michael slowly, Alex slips behind him and grasps Michael’s hips. He could be checking the fit of the garment’s waist, but his usually busy fingers are still and he’s pressing into Michael where they’re connected, shifting his body weight from his right side to his left and using his grip on Michael for balance. In the silence between them, Michael hears his labored breathing, feels the heavy puffs on his naked back.

“Rest for a minute, Captain,” he says softly, “no one’s gonna see.”

Alex squeezes Michael’s hips and Michael feels the damp press of Alex’s forehead between the blades of his shoulders. Scanning the room, he checks that no one is paying them any attention; between the countdown to runway and the minor disaster happening with a team’s dress across the studio they aren’t on anyone’s radar.

“Take your time,” Michael whispers, “no one’s looking.”

Alex’s breathing steadies after another minute, falling in sync with Michael’s own. The rustle of a pill bottle is loud to Michael’s ear after the stillness of their shared moment; he hears the pop of a cap and feels Alex lift and tilt his head back, then more rustling as the bottle is capped and goes back into, Michael assumes, Alex’s pocket. He waits. Alex chances a soft kiss to the back of Michael’s neck, then appears in front of him looking rumpled and tired, but steady.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says.

He looks down, fixing his attention on the front clasp of the garment, and Michael wonders if that’s the most Alex is going to say. Michael’s already decided he’s not going to press him. But after a beat Alex begins to speak.

“I lost a quarter of my right leg, amputated just under the knee on my last tour,” he says, voice pitched low, tone detached and clinical. “That was a little over a year ago. I have a prosthesis and some days I use a crutch. I do physical therapy, but it only takes you so far.” He adjusts his shoulders, takes a quick look around, and continues. “There’s pain. Some days it’s manageable. Others…” He breathes out. “I’m private. I don’t want my personal business turned into some kind of after-school special.” Alex raises his head and fixes Michael with an intense, searching gaze. “This is a lot. You can take your time to process everything, and if you don’t want to continue our— as we’ve been, I understand. But I’m asking for your discretion either way.”

Michael meets his gaze openly, steadily.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” he says. “I don’t need time. I want you. I want to be what you need.”

Alex smiles and his hand twitches at Michael’s waist. His let the back of his fingers brush against Michael’s abdomen, a gentle caress that’s all warmth and no heat. 

Michael tilts his head closer and whispers, “What do you need, Alex?”

“I need fifteen minutes,” he answers, “and I need a reason to sit down.”

Michael grins, cocky and sure and drawing attention to himself as he rears back and says loudly, “I just don’t get this look, man. Maybe if I could see the sketches? You could give me some insight?”

Smirking privately at Michael, Alex lets a well-practiced annoyance pull at his features as he rolls his eyes dramatically and turn away.

“Over here,” he snaps, gesturing to his work station. Michael leans on the table next to Alex’s stool as he slides onto it, breathing a quiet, grateful sigh and taking a long swig of the water Kyle had left for him, subtly massaging his thigh.

“I’d do that for you, you know, if I could,” Michael murmurs, shifting closer under the guise of examining a sketch and letting his fingers dance over Alex’s knee. “I can promise a  _ very _ happy ending.”

Alex snorts, pressing the back of his hand to his lips and swallowing a mouthful of water with a gasp, shoulders shaking with laughter. Michael shoots him a dirty grin.

From his place behind the dress form, Kyle makes a face like a carp and a noise like an offended bull.

He glares at them from around his work and says, “This is why I take so many damn coffee breaks.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is in love. Kyle is MVP BFF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can have some unabashed Kylex BroTP. As a treat.

Kyle sits in the large hotel dining room, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee with cinnamon—it’s no café de olla, but in a pinch—and waiting. It’s too early on an off day for most of the show’s cast and crew, and the place is nearly empty. Still, he knows Alex must be on his way. They have breakfast most days, just to spend some downtime together. They’re so hyper-focused these days on the competition and their shooting schedule and sneaking in time to keep their brand afloat that they need structured opportunities to just be bros. Kyle had even stopped by Alex’s room earlier, thinking they would ride the elevator down together, but he hadn’t answered. He could have been in the shower or sleeping soundly for once.  _ Or _ he could still be with Michael. He’s probably still with Michael. Kyle smirks.  _ This is gonna be good. _

Not a minute later, he watches Alex stride into the room looking skittish, but well-rested. He raises an arm from his spot at a small two-top in the corner. It’s near the emergency exit, pressed against a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and Kyle’s taken the seat with its back to the flapping kitchen door. Alex should be comfortable. When Alex sees him he nods once and heads Kyle’s way, detouring to serve himself a cup of coffee at the beverage and pastry bar. The hotel isn’t much, but it does have a cold breakfast bar and full-service hot breakfast options. Kyle’s already ordered for them both. 

Alex slides into his seat looking shaken, gripping his coffee like it’s a life raft and he’s lost at sea. Kyle suspects this morning he kind of is.

“Good morning,” Kyle says, smiling brightly at him.

“Morning,” Alex mumbles.

“I ordered you the omelet. Mushrooms and peppers.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence. Alex is staring into his coffee like it’s a crystal ball, and Kyle can’t help but guide him along a little.

“I stopped by your room this morning,” he says lightly.

“I wasn’t there.” 

Alex states it like a fact Kyle might have somehow missed.

“So I noticed,” Kyle replies, amused.

“I slept at Michael’s.”

He seems a bit dazed by this fact. Kyle smiles mildly.

“I figured,” he says, then adds, “On purpose?”

Alex nods, and Kyle grins.

“So, you’re in love with him,” Kyle states easily, taking an admittedly smug sip of coffee. “Let’s talk about that.”

Alex looks genuinely shocked, then terrified.

“W-what?”

“ _ Alex _ ,” he chides, fixing him with a knowing look, “you let your guard down with this guy, you are opening up to him in ways I’ve frankly  _ never _ seen you do before, and right now you look like you’re about to run off and re-enlist to avoid having this conversation with me, so, yeah. I’d say you love him.”

Alex takes a deep, steadying breath and nods, almost to himself, and Kyle smiles, holding up his mug in a salute.

“Good for you, man,” he says.

A shy, almost bashful smile plays on Alex’s lips as he takes a sip of his own coffee, which is frankly ridiculous considering the kinky shit Kyle’s overheard him practically purr into Michael’s ear over the past few weeks in broad daylight, in a fucking room full of people  _ and  _ cameras. But Kyle is sincerely happy for his friend, who is historically slow to trust and lightning-quick to shut down when it comes to personal—especially intimate—connection. Still, Kyle knows Alex well enough to understand that getting him to admit to a particular emotion is only the first step in a long process of convincing him to act on it.

“So, you ever gonna tell him?” Kyle teases, and Alex looks at him like he’s lost his mind. 

"I can't just tell him I love him," Alex scoffs, "who does that?"

"Uh, literally everyone," Kyle groans. "All the time. Watch this." He takes Alex's hand. "Hey, man. You're my best friend. I love you."

Alex smirks.

“Gross.”

Kyle chuckles and leans back in his seat, tossing his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture of surrender.

“Okay,” he says, “walk me through it. You tell him. He  _ obviously _ reciprocates, because the phrase ‘heart eyes’ was invented to describe how Guerin looks at you.” Alex shakes his head and opens his mouth as if to deny Kyle’s words, but Kyle holds his hand up to silence him. “What unspeakable tragedy befalls you next that makes it impossible for you to go through with this very simple and possibly life-affirming thing?”

Alex arches a brow and Kyle raises his chin defiantly. If there is one way to engage Alex Manes in  _ any _ conversation or task, it’s to pose it as a challenge. And Alex clearly means to accept this one.

“Well,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head saucily, “for starters, in secret is not the healthiest way to start a relationship.”

"Wow,” Kyle says, shaking his head in amusement, “So, you know  _ everyone _ knows at this point, right? Designers? Models? Most of the crew?"

Alex pales.

"What?"

"Do you think you're being subtle?" he laughs. "You make eyes at each other all day long, there's got to be  _ hours _ of soft-core background footage from your 'fittings' at this point, and last week you were both gone for like thirty minutes and came out of the bathroom I  _ really needed to use _ looking like you just got fucked. By each other."

Alex gapes as Kyle takes a deep breath, expelling the lunacy of Alex’s statement as he exhales. A server drops off their plates and they busy themselves with napkins and silverware and passing condiments between them. Alex shakes hot sauce over his omelet slowly.

“No one cares?” he asks softly, hesitantly, and Kyle is quick to reassure him.

“No one cares,” he parrots. “It was hot gossip for a minute, and now everyone’s just kind of resigned. Occasionally annoyed.” Kyle glares at him. “I  _ really _ needed the bathroom.”

Alex laughs and raises a teasing brow.

“It’s all those coffee breaks.”

“I told you, those are to protect my innocence and our friendship.”

Alex snorts but falls silent after, flipping open his omelet and toying with the diced vegetables inside. 

“So,” Kyle goads, “what else you got?”

Alex rolls his eyes, speaks so low he could be talking to himself.

“We don’t even know each other that well,” he breaths, shaking his head.

Kyle shrugs easily.

“So actually  _ talk _ to him. You clearly have a connection.” Kyle’s voice goes soft as he continues, “And he might not know your middle name or whatever, but he  _ gets _ you. It’s like he just knows what you need and how to support you. It’s a little creepy, to be honest.”

Alex looks downright dreamy for a brief moment, then shakes his head as though to banish frivolous thoughts.

“I need a plan,” he whines, “I can’t just go in blind.”

“This isn’t combat, Captain,” Kyle insists, but he backs off when Alex grimaces.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he says, and Alex shakes his head.

“You didn’t offend me, it’s just-” he laughs, “‘Captain’ is kind of a thing Michael calls me. When we’re, you know, doing things you’re vanilla ass couldn’t handle.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle groans, dropping his head into his hands. “No, no, no, no, no. I reject that information.”

He looks up at Alex laughing and glares at him, but his own treacherous lips are pulling into a smile. Kyle piles egg whites onto his toast and raises to his lips.

“And?” he asks, taking an exaggerated bite of his breakfast and motioning Alex to do the same. 

Alex flips his omelet closed and cuts off a piece.

“And what happens if it  _ is _ just a scene for him?” His tone is light, but Kyle hears the hesitation to be vulnerable, the fear of uncertainty and loss of control and all the things his restrained, stoic friend dreads most. 

He smiles warmly, reassuringly at Alex, dropping his chin in his hand.

“Then I’ll come over with whiskey and ice cream, and you can talk about your feelings and cry on my shoulder, and then we’ll drunkenly egg his car.” 

Alex’s shoulders shake with laughter and he finally,  _ finally _ spears a large hunk of omelet with his fork and devours it. Kyle grins.

“You know I got you, bro,” he teases.

“Stop,” Alex laughs.

“Wanna practice your speech on me?” Kyle continues. “Or I could read over your text before you send it to him.”

Alex lays his fork down and folds his arms over the table, his trademark come-to-jesus stance. He gazes steadily at Kyle and smirks, tilting his head slightly as though amused by what he sees. Kyle is suddenly very nervous.

“You know,” he says, and Kyle swallows a mouthful of egg whites with a gulp, “I think I’d rather talk about you and Liz Ortecho. Or did you think I didn’t notice that you’re ‘coffee breaks’ are perfectly timed to hers?”

_ Oh, shit _ , Kyle thinks,  _ this is gonna be ugly. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wakes up in his own bed. Alex is still in it. This is the morning of Alex and Kyle's Part Five Talk.
> 
> Smut. Smut, smut, SmUT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael is SO CHEESY in this what have I done?

Michael wakes up slowly, begrudgingly. He’s warm, his sheets are soft, and there’s a heavy, comforting presence at his side, a stark contrast to the usual cold, vast emptiness of his hotel’s king bed once Alex has slipped away for the night. It’s this realization, coupled with the sensation of a steady, warm hand roving his abdomen and soft lips pressing into the skin of his chest, that pulls him fully into consciousness. He opens his eyes to a dark, tousled head of hair, broad, tan shoulders, and the outline of Alex’s lashes against the sharp cut of his cheekbone as he raises his head to peer up at Michael.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs into Michael’s skin, leaving one last, lingering kiss to Michael’s collarbone before shifting back onto his side.

“You stayed,” Michael replies, his tone teasing and voice rough from sleep and the activities of the night before that had landed Alex in his bed in the first place.

“It was late,” Alex says. “I was tired.” 

But when he runs the tips of his fingers gently over Michael’s cheek, thumbing his bottom lip, and Michael’s jaw drops easily, eagerly open in response, Alex’s breath hitches, and Michael smirks.

“That the only reason?” he asks lightly, locking onto Alex’s gaze as he brushes his hand down, down, down Alex’s chest, then abdomen, and finally groin, tugging the thin sheet pooling at his hips away with a single index finger as he continues on and finally lands low at the back of Alex’s thigh, cupping it lightly and hitching his leg over Michael’s hip. 

“No,” Alex breaths, rolling fully only his back and dragging Michael on top of him, bracketing Michael’s body with his thighs. Michael is naked, passed out that way the night before after  _ someone _ edged him into oblivion, but he sleeps nude most of the time anyway. But Alex, the traitor, slipped underwear on in the middle of the night, and Michael groans when his bare cock meets rough fabric.

“God, take it  _ off _ ,” he whines, scrabbling with clumsy fingers at the waistband of Alex’s boxer-briefs, and Alex hurriedly complies, pulling them down and letting them hang off his left ankle in favor of digging his fingers into the small of Michael’s back when he immediately grinds into Alex, hot and hard and perfect.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Alex breathes, working his hips and moaning into Michael’s open mouth as they slide against each other. “Fuck, sweetheart, wa-want you-”

“What,” Michael practically begs, “what do you want, baby? Tell me.”

“ _ Fuck me _ .”

Michael pauses, looking down at Alex questioningly, and Alex looks away quickly.

“I know we’ve never, but - I mean,” he stammers, then takes a deep breath and asks simply, “Color?”

Michael grins. 

“Green, green,” he babbles. “Neon green- _ oh! _ ”

“Good,” Alex says, smug as he works Michael’s cock in a firm, teasing grip. “I don’t want a scene right now, though. I just want us. Is that-” He trails off, his hand falling away as Michael whines.

“Michael,” he calls softly, and his voice is a beacon guiding Michael back toward solid ground.

“I’m here,” he says, voice steady, “and I want you. Scene, no scene, I don’t care.” 

He lowers his head, traces the shell of Alex’s ear with his tongue, and whispers, “Wanna fuck you so bad,  _ Alex Brilliant-Designer-and-Beautiful-Human-and-Fucking-Mind-Blowing-in-Bed Manes _ .”

Alex chuckles, then gasps as Michael runs his palms over the backs of Alex’s thighs and hoists them up, slinking down his body in the process.

“I don’t actually have a middle name, but ok- _ oh, shit _ .”

Michael pulls his mouth reluctantly off of Alex’s hole.

“You gonna let me eat you out,” he growls, “or you wanna talk all morning?”

Alex huffs down at him.

“Brat.”

“You said no scene,” Michael chides.

“You’re still a brat.” 

Michael grins, licks a wet stripe up Alex’s cock, then lowers his head again, pressing his lips to Alex’s hole and sucking a sloppy kiss, then two, then three directly over it. He licks in broad strokes between Alex's spread cheeks, soaking him, and pulls back, humming low in his throat as he sucks a thumb into his mouth and uses the wet digit to trace Alex's rim, probing lightly at the tight muscle. He takes his time, coaxing Alex open first with the tip of his tongue and then a lubed finger, adding another when Alex begins to whine and work his hips in time with the press of Michael's hand. Michael pulls back to admire the view of his two fingers pumping in and out of Alex, and on the next pass he presses up to drag his fingers slowly down Alex’s wall, his cock twitching when Alex groans loud and swears. His fingers find that same spot again, moving in slow circles, and Alex keens.

"Yeah?" he breaths. "Right there?"

Alex only whines and presses his head back against his pillow. 

"Talk to me," Michael begs, and Alex snaps his head up to lock eyes with Michael. His pupils are blown and his lids are heavy, but he holds Michael's gaze.

"Feels so  _ good _ ," he says breathlessly. "M’ready for more, Michael,  _ please _ ."

Michael nods and scissors his fingers once more before pulling them out, adding way too much lube and pressing back in slowly with three thick fingers. Alex hisses and he pauses, spreading Alex's rim gently, but waiting to press deeper until Alex breathes out steadily and nods.

"Been awhile," he whispers, and Michael shushes him.

"I got time, Captain."

By the time Michael is coaxing a pillow under Alex's hips and lining himself up, he's been hard and leaking for what feels like a lifetime, arousal churning at every whine he pulled from Alex's gorgeous mouth. He's afraid he won't last long. He opens his mouth to say so, but what comes out is a choked off moan. Alex has butterflied his legs, inner thighs spread wide for Michael, the long line of his body in a graceful arch, both palms pressed against the sleek headboard.

" _ Fuck _ ," Michael whispers, and reaches out to run a palm down Alex's chest, tweaking a nipple as he goes. Alex licks his lips.

"Ready for you, sweetheart."

Michael wraps his hands underneath Alex's spread thighs and tugs him closer, grinning when Alex gasps at the sudden force. He presses in so slow; Alex is a hot vice around his cock and he's whining softly with every inch deeper Michael presses. Finally his hips are flush with Alex's body and he takes a moment to just breath, gazing down at Alex and biting his lip hard to force back the wild urge to tell Alex  _ I fucking love you _ . 

"I'm good," Alex breathes.

"I'm not," Michael huffs, shaking his head, and moans when Alex deliberately squeezes even tighter around him. 

" _ Fuck _ , you're gonna pay for that," he growls, and Alex hums, delighted.

"Oh," he teases breathlessly, working his hips to get Michael to move, "baby's got teeth."

Michael's had it. He pulls out and pushes back in swiftly, grinding his hips hard into Alex and searching for that spot that had taken him apart so easily. He hits it once and Alex throws his head back, arching up at an angle Michael would think would be uncomfortable, but Alex doesn't seem bothered. 

"Flexible," Michael breathes, and works his cock relentlessly over the same spot until Alex is sobbing, scratching his nails against the headboard and urging Michael deeper with the heel of his left foot. Michael squeezes Alex's inner thigh and traces his fingers across to his swollen cock, gripping it tight and working him in time with his thrusts.

"Gonna come," Alex cries, " _ God _ , don't stop m’gonna-" he cuts himself off with a deep groan and spills over Michael's hand and across his chest. His rim is pulsing around Michael's cock, but Michael holds himself back, working Alex through his release until he's hissing and pushing Michael's hand away.

Michael pumps his hips in shallow thrusts, testing Alex's sensitivity. Hands sliding down his own chest, Alex groans and hooks both legs around Michael's waist.

"Come on," he breathes as Michael quickens his pace, moaning and slipping in and out of rhythm as he thrusts deeper and harder into Alex, "Come on, sweetheart."

Michael drops his chin to watch himself filling Alex's hole over and over, groaning loud over the sound of his hips slapping against Alex. He's almost  _ over _ stimulated, the combination of their shifting dynamic, his growing emotions, and the feel and sight of Alex hot and tight around him all working to overwhelm and unsteady him. He's slipping against Alex, sweat pooling at his hips and rolling down his back, and he whines, pressing deeper and falling forward, bracing himself on his forearms bracketing Alex's head. Alex slides his fingers into Michael's curls and tugs.

"It's okay,"he whispers hot against Michael's ear. "Make yourself feel good, sweetheart."

Michael shifts and rolls his hips slowly, focuses on the bite of Alex’s nails against his scalp and the heat of his locked gaze. He lets other sensations come back to him in waves, opens himself first to the scratch of his chest against Alex’s, then the squeeze of Alex’s thighs around his waist, and finally the hot slide of his cock, the heat coiling tight in his groin as he snaps his hips faster. Michael moans and drops his head lower, pressing his forehead to Alex’s as the sensation builds and builds.

That's it, Michael, yeah," Alex urges. "Come in me, sweetheart. I'm  _ yours _ ."

Michael’s whole body shudders and he cries out as he buries himself deep inside Alex and comes in heavy spurts, cock pulsing over and over as he works his hips weakly through it. There are pops of white behind his eyes and he closes them for what feels only like a moment, but when he open them again his face is pressed against Alex’s neck and Alex’s broad hands are gliding up and down his back. He must feel the flutter of Michael’s lashes against his skin; Alex squeezes Michael’s neck and presses his mouth to Michael’s ear, murmuring, “You with me?”

Michael raises his head slowly and Alex smiles up at him.

“ _ Wow _ ,” he breathes, and Alex huffs a laugh, shifting underneath him. Michael realizes with a start that not only is he resting all his weight on Alex’s hips, but he’s yet to pull out of him, his cock soft and sticky.

“Oh, god,” he frets, massaging Alex’s right hip briefly before running his hand down to his thigh. “Let me—hold on.” He pulls out slowly, Alex hissing softly and grimacing. Michael drops himself heavily onto his side, running his hand up and down the length of Alex’s body nervously.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and Alex is quick to assure him.

“No, no. M’fine,” he says. “Just. Sticky.” Alex glances down the length of his own body pointedly, and Michael follows his gaze, taking in the dried come on his stomach and lower, where Michael’s mess is leaking slowly out of his hole.

“Whoa,” Michael whispers, obsessed with the sight of Alex’s well-used body. He reaches down and pushes his thumb back up into Alex, swirling it around Alex’s rim and watching as even more of his come oozes out. Alex whines, caught between pleasure and overstimulation. 

“Guess I’m  _ your _ mess now,” he teases breathlessly, and Michael eases his thumb out, dragging his gaze back up to meet Alex’s. He grins.

“Bet your sweet asshole you are,  _ Captain _ ,” he drawls, and Alex rolls his eyes, groaning dramatically.

“ _ Ohmygod _ .”

Michael crowds into Alex’s space, arm sliding around his waist and nose nudging Alex’s cheek. He kisses him soft and sweet, letting Alex’s tongue fill his mouth and push aside the  _ I love you so much  _ that sits heavy in the back of his throat _.  _

Alex pulls away first, turning his head to ask, “What time is it?”

Michael reaches over his and grabs for his phone on the nightstand.

“7:45,” he answers.

“Shit, I usually meet Kyle for breakfast at 8.” Alex turns back to Michael, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Okay,” Michael says easily, “shower?”

“Yeah,” Alex nods, sitting up quickly and reaching for his crutch that rests in the small space between the nightstand and the bed. Michael rolls over to the other side of the bed and hops up, hurrying ahead to set up the shower seat he called down for a couple weeks ago when Alex wanted to wash up after an afternoon quickie.

“Hey,” he says, “are Kyle and the sweet sister hooking up?” 

Alex pauses halfway around the bed.

“Liz?”

“Yeah,” Michael continues, heading into the bathroom and glancing behind him to check that Alex is still in range. “They’re always taking coffee breaks together. Well, she takes one and he follows her.”

Alex makes a face as he walks into the bathroom, hanging back to give Michael room to swing the portable seat into the tub.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but I  _ am _ interested to know why you’re tracking Kyle’s coffee breaks.”

Michael finishes setting up the seat and turns, stepping in close and cupping Alex’s face in his hands.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “when Kyle’s away, you and I get to play.”

Alex’s brows are to his hairline.

“Is this what your like in the morning?” he laughs incredulously.

“Nope,” Michael grins, planting a kiss to his lips, “this is what I’m like with  _ you _ .”

* * *

Alex steps into the hall, Michael’s door closing softly behind him. He’s freshly showered, in his own jeans and an inconspicuously-borrowed tee shirt. And he’s happy. He’s so  _ fucking  _ happy he wants to— he wants to— he needs to talk to Kyle.   
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Michael have a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of child abuse, trauma, implied PTSD, homophobia

It's a bad fight because it's their first, and they don't know the rules.

"Know what today is?" Michael asks, grinning into Alex's face as he battles with the stubborn hem of Michael's sleeve.

Alex presses his lips together like he's trying not to smile bigger and glances up at Michael mildly.

"Do  _ you _ know what day it is?" he smirks. "You don't strike me as a calendar person."

"It's your birthday," Michael continues on, undeterred.

"I know," Alex replies indulgently. "I was there when you found out."

He glares over his shoulder at Kyle. Kyle clearly hears him, but he stays diligently bent over his own work. Alex hadn’t breathed a word, let half the day go by like any other. But Kyle had accidentally blabbed to Liz, and Liz had run off to tell the producer on set, and the whole debacle had ended with the entire cast and crew singing "Happy Birthday,” and Michael hurriedly calling in a favor from his well-connected sister for surprise dinner reservations. 

Michael leans closer, brushing his nose against Alex's temple.

"I think we should celebrate," he murmurs in Alex's ear. Alex tsks and lifts Michael's arm impatiently to get at the bottom of the sleeve.

"Stand up straight," he commands, and Michael does, but a dark look passes over his face.

" _ Anyway _ ," Michael goes on, "What about drinks and dinner?" He raises an eyebrow and grins. "I'll throw in a birthday blow job. Time and location is up to you."

Kyle flips off his machine and pivots off his chair in one fluid movement, calling, "Coffee," over his shoulder as he practically sprints away.

Michael smirks.

"Finally." 

He looks down at Alex, expecting to find his dark eyes bright with mirth. He doesn’t exactly condone Micael’s teasing attempts to make Kyle uncomfortable, but he also doesn’t hide his amusement. This time, though, Alex is staring stonily at the hem of Michael’s sleeve, seemingly caught up in his work. But Michael sees how his eyes flit back and forth restlessly, and he knows Alex is deliberately avoiding eye contact. Michael furrows his brow, confused and bit frustrated.

“Alex,” he says through his teeth, “tonight? What do you think?”

Alex’s mouth is a thin line, his jaw tense.

“It’s not a good idea,” he says. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not,” Alex grits, his voice loud and commanding and filled with finality. It’s the tone that usually turns Michael’s spine liquid and replaces the chaos of his mind with peaceful, focused clarity. This time it grates in his chest like nails on a chalkboard, and he returns Alex’s cold stare with the full force of his heated glare.

“This isn’t a scene,” he hisses. “You don’t get to make all the decisions.”

“It’s  _ my _ birthday,” Alex replies, “I absolutely  _ do _ have final say in how I spend it.”

“Fine,” Michael spits, exasperated by Alex’s obstinance. “But what’s the big deal? Everybody knows about us, we’re not even trying to hide it anymore. Would it be so bad if we acted like a real couple?”

“Yes!” Alex cries, his voice a mixture of insistence and panic, and something in Michael caves, gives in, and he stops fighting in favor of sinking deep into the overwhelming disappointment and frustration weighing him down like an anchor. Alex searches his face, his lips parting as he lets out a breath and starts to speak.

“Michael-”

“Don’t bother,” he huffs, “let’s just get this over with.”

Alex straightens his spine, his features shifting as the emotion falls from his face and a cool mask of indifference slips into place.

“Left arm up,” he orders, but Michael shakes his head, glaring straight ahead.

“Do  _ not _ give me orders right now,” he hisses. Alex regards him cooly for a brief moment before turning on his heel and striding away. A few minutes later, Kyle returns to their station, a silent apology evident in the shrug of his shoulders, and he finishes the rest of Alex’s work in silence.

* * *

Alex doesn’t speak to Michael the rest of the day. He doesn’t return to his work station until after Kyle has released Michael, and whether it’s by fate or by design, they don’t call him back for a second fitting. Michael watches as absolutely no one suggests so much as a birthday drink to Alex, but from a distance, he can see that Alex is perfectly content in his isolation. Alex isn’t especially outgoing or demonstrative, Michael’s always known that. But their connection was instantaneous, almost cosmic, and Michael had assumed Alex was making other, if fewer relationships on set. He never realized until now how rare personal interaction actually is for Alex outside of himself and Kyle. He watches Alex back at the hotel share a quiet meal with Kyle at the bar and accept a hug from Liz, his gaze following Alex’s stiff form across the room and toward the elevator bay. He realizes if he wants any kind of resolution tonight,  _ Michael _ has to go to  _ him _ .

* * *

Alex answers the door wearing the same carefully neutral expression he had when he’d walked away from Michael earlier in the day, and Michael feels like ice water is seeping into his veins.

“Can we talk?” he asks, and Alex steps aside so he can pass into the room.

They stand in silence, facing one another across the length of the bed like opponents in a duel. Alex is fully dressed, prosthesis still on, but his eyes are tired and a little bloodshot, and his hair is unkempt, like he’s been running his fingers through it carelessly. Michael wonders how many drinks he had with dinner. Still, his stance is firm and steady, and when he finally speaks, his voice is clear.

“So,” he says, not quite meeting Michael’s eye, “what do you want to talk about?”

Michael scoffs.

“Are you kidding?” he asks, voice already rising. “You left, Alex. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but you just  _ left _ .”

Alex shrugs.

“I needed space,” he says, “and you  _ clearly _ didn’t want me there.”

“Then you  _ say _ you need some time,” Michael insists. “You don’t just walk away.”

“Why are you trying to push this?” Alex demands suddenly, brow furrowed in anger, and he finally meets Michael’s gaze with a resentful glare. “We’re together, we’re not hiding. Suddenly that’s not enough?”

Michael shakes his head, running a hand through his messy curls. 

“Apparently not,” he cries, throwing his arms in the air, “cuz I still feel like a side piece.”

Alex takes a step back, expression incredulous.

“ _ What? _ ” he spits.

“First we had to keep it secret because of the show. Now everyone knows, but you still don’t want to leave the hotel with me for some reason? I feel like I’m your side chick and I’m just letting you string me along like an idiot, making promises I  _ know _ you’re not gonna keep!”

“I’ve never promised you anything,” Alex says coldly.

Michael scoffs.

“Believe me, I know.”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t  _ love _ being my dirty little secret,” Alex says, his voice glacial.

"Jesus  _ Christ _ , Alex," Michael groans, fisting a hand in his already chaotic hair, "I love you, but what the fuck am I supposed to say to that?"

"What?" 

"I said what do you expect me to say?" Michael cries, shoulders raised and arms outstretched as though to catch an answer tumbling out of the sky.

"No, y-you—you said—"

Michael pauses, thinks back, and recognition dawns. He squares his shoulders.

"I said what I said," he admits softly. 

"Me, too," Alex replies with a ridiculously formal nod.

"What?"

"I-I love you, too."

Michael feels the air rush out of him, along with all the bones in his body, and he steps forward, opening his arms to Alex. Alex takes a hesitant step back.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to hold you," Michael answers incredulously. Then, softer, he asks, "Is that okay with you?"

He waits until Alex nods, stepping hesitantly into his arms. Michael wraps his long limbs around Alex's shoulders, feels Alex run his palms over his back and, after a moment, press his face into Michael's wild curls.

“I’m sorry,” Michael breathes, and he’s surprised to feel a wet lump in his throat making his voice shake. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just—I want you, Alex. I want all of you, all the time. I love you and I—”

Alex shakes his head, pulling away only far enough to cup Michael’s jaw, to steady him with the dark, calming pools of his eyes. 

“This isn’t about you, it’s me,” he says, leaning in to press a tender kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth before moving away, lowering himself into the desk chair behind him and sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees. Michael misses his touch, his proximity, instantly, but he drops onto the corner of the bed, accepting Alex’s unspoken request for space.

“I didn’t grow up in a safe home,” Alex begins in that even, disconnected tone Michael knows means this story will not be a happy one. “My father is military. My three older brothers are, too. Growing up with them was. Well. It was very obvious very quickly that I was gay and not interested in carrying on the family legacy. The abuse was constant, unpredictable. Verbal, emotional. Physical.” 

Michael’s brow furrows, but he stays silent. Alex takes a deep breath through his nose, exhales slowly through his open mouth, and continues. 

“When I was seventeen I was at a stalemate with my dad. I was not gonna join up and he was not going to pay for college. But I had a boyfriend. I thought if I could just ride out the summer I could follow him when he went to school. We could be together, get an apartment. I could work.” Alex shrugs. “We were in love. On my birthday, we were fooling around in this old shed at the back of my dad’s property. He caught us. I—” Alex swallows, finishes his story in a rush. “It was bad. I don’t remember most of it. The next day he drove me to the recruitment office.”

Michael nods, absorbing and processing while Alex gazes at him with an unnerving calm.

“So, you don’t like to celebrate your birthday?” Michael asks, and Alex shakes his head slowly. “And—and does your dad know about the show? Your work?”

Alex sighs.

“He knows what me and Kyle are doing, yeah,” Alex says softly, “but I need to be careful. I don’t court attention. And I don’t want you and I to become a fucking storyline. I know he can’t hurt me anymore, he can’t hurt  _ us _ , but sometimes I’m still so  _ goddamn _ afraid—” 

Alex cuts himself off, shaking his head firmly and taking deep, even breaths to steady his trembling frame.

“So, can I ask you a stupid question?” Michael says softly once Alex has regained his composure. 

Alex nods.

“The boyfriend,” he says hesitantly, “was it Kyle?”

Alex laughs. Not his genuine laugh, the one that scrunches up his nose and makes him look so painfully young and carefree. But his shoulders relax and voice grows stronger.

“No,” he says, “definitely not Kyle. Kyle’s like a brother to me. A  _ real _ brother. He—he’s been a constant. Just always there. Always backing me up.” He laughs, a little lighter. “Always calling me on my shit.”

“I got one of those,” Michael murmurs. “Isobel. My sister.”

“Sister?” Alex asks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, more at ease now that the focus is off of him.

“Well, adopted. Well, sort of,” Michael stammers. “We were found together, on the side of the road, when we were little. Me, Isobel, and her twin brother, Max. We all went into a group home. They got adopted, I went into the system. But Max and Isobel, they found me a few years later. They’re my family.”

“How long were you in foster care?” Alex asks.

“Only until I got the fuck outta there,” Michael mutters, and Alex tilts his head and shifts foward again in his seat, an unspoken question. “I had some bad placements. Fundamentalists. Drunks. Went through some of the same shit you did. When I was sixteen I traded a mechanic work for an old truck. Fixed it up. Slept in the bed.” He pauses, adds with characteristic flourish, “Under the stars.”

“Where was all this?”

“Albuquerque.”

Alex blinks, a smile pulling at his lips, and shakes his head ruefully.

“What?”

“I grew up in Roswell.”

Michael grins.

“I got placed there for a minute,” he says, “but the family moved out of state.”

“So, in another lifetime we might have grown up together?”

Michael reaches a hesitant hand out between them and Alex takes it easily, allows himself to be tugged up to stand between Michael’s legs. Michael grips Alex’s hips and rests his chin on Alex’s stomach, wide eyes gazing up at him.

“I bet I would have been all over you in high school,” he murmurs.

Alex laughs, threads his fingers through Michael’s hair and scratches his nails lightly against his scalp. Michael’s eyes fall shut.

“Doubtful. I was totally emo in high school,” he says. “Black nail polish, septum piercing. The works.”

Michael drags the tip of his nose down Alex’s abdomen, presses a kiss just under his belly button.

“Hot,” he mumbles into the fabric of Alex’s shirt. “Tell me you wore eyeliner and I’m building a time machine.”

“I love you,” Alex breathes, and he uses his grip on Michael’s curls to tilt his head up. “I’m fucked up and I shut down and I fucking  _ hate _ talking about shit I really should be talking about. But I love you and I don’t want you to think that I don’t want this. I want to be with you.”

Michael releases a shaky breath, eyes wet and shining golden, and shakes his head.

“It isn’t just you that fucked up. I got my own shit,” he admits. “I’ve been left too many times to not freak out when someone walks away from me. I don’t always do so well with the whole concept of ‘space.’”

Alex laughs.

  
“So basically we’re doomed?”

“Yup.” Michael grins, slipping his hands up under Alex’s shirt. “Wanna go out with a bang, Captain?”

“ _ Ohmygod _ ,” Alex laughs, pressing his palms against Michael’s shoulders and forcing him back onto the bed, settling beside him. Michael slides his leg between Alex’s, cups Alex’s cheek and presses their brows together.

“I love you,” he whispers, gravitating closer to Alex’s lips with every breath. “Ha—Can I say it?”

Alex brushes his lips against Michael’s and smiles, eyes already half closed.

“ I’ll allow it,” he breathes.

“Happy birthday.”


	8. Part 8a

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Michael go public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place sometime between Parts Five/Six and Part Seven. Their fight has not yet happened, and neither have the I love yous, but they're coming. 
> 
> At some point between Part Five and this one, Alex and Michael agree to be open about their relationship. I might write that scene later, but know that it's happened.
> 
> **This one got long, so I've divided it into two parts--8a and 8b. I'm posting both at once.

The swagger with which Michael enters the studio in Alex’s Air Force t-shirt can only be described as  _ excessive _ .

He’s worn it before, of course, usually half-concealed under a jacket or one of his endless denim or flannel button-downs—for a man working in the fashion industry he has shockingly little interest in personal style and grooming. But today, when he throws open the heavy double doors on set and ambles in looking like the cat fucking  _ drowning _ in cream, the shirt is on full display, logo across the chest pulled a little less taut than it would be on Alex’s frame, but bold and obvious nonetheless. Alex smirks, trying and utterly failing not to stare as Michael locks eyes with him across the studio and sets off toward his station like a bloodhound. Kyle notices, notices  _ Alex _ noticing, and shoots him a quizzical look.

“What’s he doing?” he asks. “He’s working with Liz and Rosa again today, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s coming to say hello,” Alex says, shaking his head in amusement and unable to keep his eyes off of Michael as he weaves between stations, equipment, and people. “We had a...talk the other night.”

He turns as Michael approaches, leaning back casually against the drafting table and waiting. And with zero hesitation Michael steps into Alex’s space, crowding him against the table with his arms on either side of Alex’s hips and captures his lips in a wet, open-mouthed, not-even-remotely-appropriate-for-public kiss. Alex slides his hands into Michael’s curls and tugs, biting at his bottom lip and laughing into the kiss as Michael moans exaggeratedly, and half the room whoops and burst into applause. Alex pulls back a little self-consciously, but he can’t stop smiling, and Michael is looking at him like he’s forgotten he was putting on an elaborate show not thirty seconds ago. 

“Hi,” he whispers, and sneaks back in to peck Alex once more, light and sincere.

“Nice shirt,” Alex replies lightly, and Michael grins wide.

“Oh, it’s not mine,” he shakes his head, voice teasing, but eyes intent. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“Okay,” says a brash voice to their left, “you know everyone’s only clapping cuz they don’t have to watch you two pretend to sneak around anymore, right?”

They turn their heads to find Rosa, hip cocked, arms crossed, and dark eyes narrow. Her stare is severe, but there’s a glint in her eyes, and her full lips are quirked in a playful smirk.

“Let’s go, güey,” she says to Michael. “You got a lot to make up to me and we started when you still had your tongue down your boyfriend’s throat.”

Michael grins one last time and darts forward, pressing a dry kiss to Alex’s cheek before he turns dutifully toward Rosa.

“Take him,” Kyle says, disgusted, waving his hand as if to shoo Michael away. “Take them both. How is it  _ worse _ now that you're not sneaking around?"

"Really, dude?" Rosa laughs as she turns back to her own station, confident Michael will follow. "Did you think they'd tone it  _ down _ ?"

* * *

Being open about their relationship is better because it’s clearly better for Michael. He’s basking in it, preening for no damn reason, so secure in the knowledge that everyone knows he belongs to Alex. And Alex is happy to see Michael so content, he  _ really _ is. But as the day goes on, Alex’s mood grows darker, and he can’t seem to grasp why Michael’s barking laugh, his bright eyes and flashing teeth seem to haunt Alex as he struggles to maintain some semblance of professional focus and integrity. 

Alex is working on the hem of their model’s shorts—it’s always the  _ fucking _ hem—and watching Michael out of the corner of his eye. He’s laughing with Liz, Rosa rolling her eyes dramatically, but smiling. She pushes his shoulder and gestures at his torso, and Michael easily lifts Alex’s shirt over his head and drapes it over the garment rack to his left. Alex glowers at Michael’s tan, bare chest and the sharp curve of his hips, now on full display for the whole studio to see. Alex burns, arousal flushing his cheeks and something dark and unforgiving heating the blood in his veins. His next pass of the needle is a touch too aggressive, and his model gives a yelp as it pricks her thigh.

“I’m so sorry, Maria,” Alex says, leaning back as she bends over to inspect her leg.

“It’s all right,” she assures him, straightening again and gesturing for Alex to continue his work. “It was a pinch, that’s all.”

Alex shakes his head and he takes the garment back in hand, hyperfocused on his next stitch.

“It was stupid,” he insists. “I’m just—I’m distracted today.”

"I noticed,” Maria quips, laughter in her voice. 

Alex looks up at her and she smirks knowingly, eyes traveling deliberately to where Michael is— _ oh, fuck _ —dramatically dropping his pants, standing smugly in tiny red briefs as Rosa gags and Liz covers her mouth, half gaping, half giggling. Maria’s gaze returns to Alex and she raises a perfect brow.

“He's a lot to look at,” she grins. “Believe me, I  _ know _ ."

She gives him a conspiratorial wink, and Alex blinks. When he doesn't respond, her brow furrows and she begins to chew her lip nervously.

"O-oh, I'm sorry," she says. "Did you not know he–or that we used to–"

Alex comes back to himself and smiles quickly, reassuringly.

"No, no," he assures her. "You're fine. I mean, I didn't know about your, um, history, but don't worry. You didn't say anything wrong."

She smiles weakly at him and clears her throat, eyes fixed ahead and very much  _ not _ on either Alex or Michael. 

And, objectively, it really, absolutely _is_ fine. _Of_ _course_ Michael has a sexual history, and Alex has always known it includes both women and men. He's been in this industry long enough to know that the social scene in any given fashion hub is insular and smaller than you might think. He's not at all surprised Michael has slept with another model from the show. They are some of the most beautiful people in the world by trade; it's natural that they’d seek out sex with one another. Alex would never begrudge Michael his history, not even when he currently has a hand on its very long, very soft, toned leg.

But he can't fight the dark, hot roil in the pit of his stomach that is growling  _ mine _ .

* * *

Liz and Rosa  _ finally _ let Michael go around three o’clock, confident they won’t need him again until the final fitting before runway the next day. He re-dresses hurriedly, eyes drifting shut as he tugs Alex’s shirt over his head and catches the scent of Alex’s detergent, his body wash, the heady smell of his skin. Michael runs a hand down his own torso under the guise of smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt, but in reality, he’s worked up, on edge, and while it’s not his own hands he wants to feel dragging across his body, any touch helps to ground and focus him. He needs to find Alex, who's been conspicuously absent from his station since he let Maria go fifteen minutes ago.

Michael groans as he carefully fastens his jeans. He’s been half-hard all day long, Alex’s gaze a tangible thing, hot and heavy on the back of his neck. It’s been awkward, given the joke underwear he threw on to fuck with Rosa. It’s also unsettling. He's used to working for it, drawing Alex's focus from across the room slowly, painstakingly, with flourish. He's used to  _ earning _ Alex's attention. Today, it has seemed to haunt him, and there's a hollow pit in his stomach and a dark voice in his ear whispering,  _ You fucked up. _

As soon as he's out of range of Rosa's prying eyes, he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends Alex a text.

**_M:_ ** _ Where are you rn? _

He doesn’t expect Alex to answer quickly; Alex isn’t the type to jump for every buzz of his phone. But his reply comes almost immediately.

**_A:_ ** _ Dressing room. _

The show isn’t nearly high profile enough for individual designers or models to have their own space, but they do have one dingy, communal “dressing room” set up for general purposes. Private phone calls, crying and bitching sessions, even panic attacks are not out of the ordinary. It’s a space designed to be out of reach of cameras and mics. That Alex is using it now pushes Michael from unsettled to concerned.

**_M:_ ** _ You okay? _

**_A:_ ** _ Yes. _

Michael is considering a response, his desire to respect Alex’s privacy battling with his need for reassurance, to wrap himself in the warm security of Alex’s touch and voice, when his phone vibrates again in his hand.

**A:** _ Wanna play? _

Oh _. Oh. _

Michael licks his lips, pulse quickening. He’d sensed Alex’s restlessness, the steady strum of tension between them, and fell back into old habits. Presumed the worst, accepted fault, assumed he had failed on some intrinsic level. But this is not Michael disappointing Alex; this is Michael  _ overwhelming _ him. 

Michael grins.

  
**M:** _ On my way, Captain. _


	9. Part 8b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Michael have semi-public sex
> 
> This is a whole lot of SMUT
> 
> Shout out to @jocarthage and the rest of my Discord fam for helping through the mechanics of chaise lounge chair sex!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation of Part 8a

He has a moment of indecision in front of the door to the dressing room, not sure if Alex would have unlocked it for him or would want him to knock. Finally, he raps his knuckles twice on the thin door. It opens swiftly, Michael catching only a flash of Alex’s form before he’s pulled into the room and pressed against the door, Alex reaching past him to turn the lock again as he slides his whole body flush against Michael’s. Michael’s greeting is swallowed by Alex’s mouth hot against his own, kissing him quick and dirty as he snakes a hand into Michael’s curls, makes a fist, and pulls. Michael hisses, head tugged back, and squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the hot pulse of arousal urging him to press back harder, to answer Alex’s desire with his own. He senses that he shouldn’t, not without a direct command from Alex. His eyes flutter open again slowly, and he gazes at Alex from beneath his lashes, view somewhat restricted by the angle at which Alex holds his head. Alex’s dark eyes are on him, deep and unreadable and probing. An impatient whine threatens to escape Michael’s mouth, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip to silence himself.

“Finally,” Alex whispers, “you’re all  _ mine _ .”

Alex’s firm grip on Michael’s hip and his fist still clenched in Michael’s curls are all that hold him upright, Michael’s knees shaking unsteadily and shoulders slumping under the weight of Alex’s claim. 

“Yours,” he breathes. “All yours. Always.”

Alex’s eyes flash blazing hot and he surges forward again, licking into Michael’s mouth and holding him steady in a tight, unforgiving grip. His kiss is biting, all teeth and firm, bruising pressure against Michael’s lips. Alex is less restrained than he’s ever been, bordering on aggressive, and Michael is both overwhelmed by the rough drag of Alex’s hands down his chest and concerned by the restless, frenetic energy he feels rolling off Alex in heavy waves. As if he senses Michael’s thoughts—or maybe he just recognizes that he’s toeing a very fine line—Alex pulls away, stepping back and pressing the pads of his fingers against Michael’s chest to preserve the distance he’s put between them.

“I think I’d like to be—firmer with you today,” Alex says, struggling to steady his breathing, to give them space to negotiate with clear heads. “I won’t hurt you. I will  _ never  _ lay a hand on you that way. Even light spanking is—I don’t do it. Do you understand?”

Michael nods. 

“I want to direct you. Restrain you. M-maybe mark you up.” Alex’s eyes roam Michael’s face, searching for a reaction. “Tell me your color. For each.”

“Green,” Michael says steadily, “green, and red.”

Alex’s expression doesn’t change, except for a slight arch of a brow that encourages Michael to continue.

“My body is my job. I have to keep it professional,” he says. “Tell me you wouldn’t flip your shit if a model showed up cover in hickeys and scratches.”

Alex smiles. 

“True,” he says. “And you don’t have to explain it to me. A red is a red. End of story.”

“I know.” 

“Good.”

“What else do you want or not want right now?” Alex asks.

Michael chews his lip.

“You said restraints—” he begins slowly.

“Go on.”

Michael steadies himself with a deep breath. 

“No belts,” he says, voice firm and low. “No leather anything.”

Alex’s mouth twitches, and Michael thinks Alex might understand on a deeper level than he anticipated, but he won’t make space for those thoughts in this moment.

“No belts, no leather,” Alex repeats, nodding his head in agreement. “Thank you for making that clear, sweetheart.”

“Then that’s it,” Michael says, looser already from Alex’s easy acceptance and praise. He catches Alex’s gaze and holds it as he adds in a low, teasing tone, “How do you want me, Captain?”

Alex licks his lips. His eyes are nearly black, dark irises swallowed by pupil, and his chest rises and falls heavily.

"Take off your pants and that fucking  _ ridiculous _ underwear you were flashing the entire set earlier and sit on that chair," he directs, pointing to a low, armless chaise lounge chair with a cushioned seat pulled into the center of the room. "Don't you dare take off my shirt."

Alex’s eyes track his movements as Michael pulls off his boots and slides his jeans and underwear down in a single movement, stepping around the pile of his discarded clothes and lowering himself onto the chair. It’s designed for comfort and stability, with a tall, reclined back, a deep curve for knee support, and a long leg rest. The cushions are worn, soft on his thighs and calves as he swings his legs up. The arch of the body creates a deep seat that Michael sinks into easily. He rests his head on the back of the chair, curls squashed by the thick cushion, and locks eyes with Alex lazily, waiting.

“Perfect,” Alex breathes, and Michael’s breath hitches.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Michael?” 

He shakes his head slowly, cock twitching in anticipation. He knows what the chair’s design lends itself to, but it’s not his place to plan or to plot. Not here, with Alex standing so tall and straight before him, tactical and determined. Here he only has to wait and receive.

“I thought I’d ride you,” Alex says casually, ignoring Michael’s breathless groan. “I thought I’d tie your hands to the legs of that chair and sit on your cock and make you watch me, make you lay there and take it while I get myself off. Would you like that?”

“Fuck, yes,  _ Alex _ .”

Alex’s smile is all teeth and hunger.

“Drop your arms to your sides,” he commands lightly, and Michael lets his arms hang heavy, even grips the flat, metal curve of the chair’s legs when his fingertips brush against them. Alex pulls two strips of fabric from his bag behind the chair—discarded cuttings, judging by their jagged edges and uneven sizes. He smirks when he turns in his squat and finds Michael already gripping the legs, and makes quick work of tying his wrists tight to the metal base of the chair.

“These okay?” he asks softly, caressing Michael’s skin just above the fabric where it’s looped and tied around his left wrist. “Not too tight?”

“No, no,” Michael replies. “They’re good.” 

Alex moves to stand in front of Michael on the side of the chair, looks down at him with dark, shining eyes. Michael tries not to fidget, to be still as Alex’s gaze travels up from Michael’s ankle, catching on the muscles of his thighs, the heavy weight of his hard, leaking cock, and the taut stretch of his arms tied at his sides, before finally meeting his gaze. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, and Michael’s eyes widen as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head and reaches for the button on his jeans, stripping himself bare as filth continues to pour from his lips. “All day, Michael. All day you were strutting around like a fucking peacock in your underwear, laughing and flirting, making me watch. All day I thought about this. Been hard since fucking noon for you.” 

Michael digs his heels into the cushion to keep his hips from churning needily, head tilted back and practically drooling at Alex naked before him, stroking his thick cock and staring down at Michael.

“I prepped myself for you,” Alex tells him, and Michael whimpers Alex’s name like a prayer. “Three fingers deep thinking about how I was gonna make you mine, all mine when I got you alone. I’m ready for you, sweetheart.”

Alex doesn’t move, and Michael shifts his hips restlessly, begging, “Alex,  _ please _ . Need you. Come on.”

Alex raises a brow and Michael freezes, bites his lip guiltily. After a beat, Alex slinks over to his bag again, tosses a small bottle of lube on the chair next to Michael and rips open a condom packet with his teeth. He rolls the condom onto Michael easily, squirting lube into his hand and jacking Michael’s neglected cock roughly when he moans at the feel of Alex’s fingers finally on him. Alex leans close, hot breath on Michael’s face, and nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Michael nods frantically and can’t help surging forward to kiss Alex hungrily, chasing him as far as his bound wrists will let him when Alex pulls away. Resting his hands on Michael’s shoulders for balance, Alex swings his prosthesis slowly over the chair to straddle Michael, shifting his weight carefully as he lowers himself down. The head of Michael’s cock catches on his rim and both men gasp, locking eyes as Alex reaches between them to grip Michael at the base and hold him steady as Alex sinks fully onto his lap. The only sounds in the room are their rapid breaths and the soft creak of the chair as Alex shifts, getting comfortable.

The chair is low enough that Alex’s feet are easily planted on either side and he sits snug in Michael’s lap, arms extended to grip the back of the chair on either side of Michael’s head for leverage. The recline of the seat creates more space between their upper bodies than Michael is used to, but as Alex sits tall, arching his back and grinning down at him, Michael realizes that the distance is just another of Alex’s machinations. He can see the full, gorgeous line of Alex’s lithe form, but their bodies touch only where they’re joined together.

The sight of Alex strong and bold before him and the tight heat of Alex clenching around him take Michael’s breath away, and then Alex moves his hips in a slow, languorous circle, dragging Michael’s cock across every inch of him, and Michael’s breath comes back to him in one loud gasp.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ , that’s good,” Alex breathes, working his hips in the same motion again.

Michael’s knuckles are white from griping the base of the chair, his legs rendered mostly immobile by Alex’s weight on his thighs. He can only lay motionless, arching his back and neck, pressing the crown of his head against the back of the chair desperately and flopping back again against the cushion while Alex sets his own pace, moves exactly the way he wants to, and makes his own body sing. He uses the leverage of his hands on the chair and the strength in his legs to lift himself slowly up, only the head of Michael’s cock still inside him, and drop back down again, over and over as Michael moans and stares transfixed at the sight of Alex’s hole swallowing his cock inch by inch.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Alex asks as he rolls his whole body like a wave in Michael’s lap, moving his hands from the back of the chair to grip Michael’s shoulders, sliding up Michael’s neck and into his hair. Michael groans and turns his head, pushing his face into Alex’s open palm, mouthing and licking at his skin.

“Yeah,” he manages to whine against Alex’s hand. “Please, baby.  _ Please _ .”

Alex’s steady grinding stutters and starts anew, his mouth dropping open as Michael’s cock brushes against his prostate.

“What do you need?” he pants, taking Michael’s chin in his now soaked hand and turning his head to look him in the eye. Michael groans, overwhelmed, and Alex only rides him harder, squeezes his chin tighter. “Use your words, sweetheart. Come on.”

“J-just fuck me,” Michael babbles, losing coherency as his head swims and his fingers begin to tingle at the wet heat of Alex moving relentlessly up and down on his cock. “Use me,  _ God _ . Want everyone to know—”

“Scream for me,” Alex says suddenly, voice deep and ragged.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, then tips his head back and cries, ‘Fuck, yeah.  _ Alex _ ,” as Alex deliberately clenches around him, working his swollen cock in a frenetic rhythm. 

Alex is a hot vice around him, and the complete lack of sensation on the rest of his body only heightens the feel of Alex in his lap, riding him relentlessly. He feels the slide of Alex’s ass and thighs against him, the weight of him heavy and warm in his lap, Alex’s nails blunt through his borrowed t-shirt as Alex drags his hand down Michael’s chest.

“Let ‘em hear you,” Alex pants, taking a fistful of his t-shirt in one hand and leaning slightly back to get Michael’s cock against his sweet spot again. He moans and Michael moans louder, tries to take Alex’s cock in his hand and growls when the bindings he somehow managed to forget about completely hold him back. 

“Come on, baby,” he begs as Alex drops his head back and whines. He’s close, Michael can tell he’s a few strokes away from coming apart, and he’s hungry for it, desperate to see how good he can be for Alex. He takes a chance and pumps his hips, works them harder when Alex only moans in response. “Touch yourself, come on my cock,  _ please _ .”

Alex is grinding deep, single-minded now as he chases his orgasm, little moans escaping his lips as Michael’s cock brushes his swollen gland over and over. He takes himself in hand and strokes roughly, squeezing and twisting, and Michael doesn’t know whether to watch his face as he comes apart or stare at his thick cock, head peaking out through his fingers.

“ _ Mine _ ,” Alex growls roughly, gripping Michael’s shirt tighter, and comes with a shout, cock pulsing and thick ropes of cum dripping between them. The squeeze around Michael’s cock and the gravel of Alex’s voice pushes him suddenly and unexpectedly over the edge, and he comes with Alex, groaning long and loud. Alex tips forward, body boneless, and rests his forehead against Michael’s, gazing into his hazy, hooded eyes before kissing him sloppy and off-center. 

“Wanna touch you, Alex, please,” Michael whimpers as soon as they pull apart, tugging on the bindings to remind him. Alex nods, pressing his palms into Michael’s shoulders again as he rises slowly and brings his leg over the chair. He pulls a pair of scissors out of his bag and simply cuts Michael free, gently rubbing each wrist where the skin is pink and indented from the squeeze of the fabric. Once he’s out of his restraints, Michael catches Alex’s wrist and tries to pull him toward the chair, rolling onto his side and scooting his body to one edge of the chaise.

“Come ‘ere,” he pleads, and Alex twists his wrist to take Michael’s hand in his, kissing it.

“Give me a minute,” he breathes, and drops the scissors back into his bag, searching inside of it for a moment before pulling out a pack of wipes and rolls Michael briefly onto his back, removing the condom and wiping him clean; he scrubs off his own abdomen, as well, before throwing everything in the trash. Finally, Alex maneuvers himself onto the chair next to Michael, sliding his arm under Michael’s neck and pulling him close, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. Michael latches onto him, touch-starved and trembling, hitching his leg over Alex’s hip and pressing their bodies together from shin to forehead. He smacks wet kisses to Alex's lips, even as Alex tries to speak.

"How d-" 

_ kiss  _

"How do you f-umph" 

_ kiss, kiss  _

"How do you feel?" Alex finally manages to get out.

Michael hums and presses himself impossibly closer, sated and indolent with Alex so close.

“Mmmm, I feel like my boyfriend is a sex god,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against Alex’s as Alex chuckles. “And I feel like I’m totally, completely,  _ publicly _ his.”

Alex grips his thigh where it rests atop his hip, digging his fingertips into Michael’s flesh as tight as he dares without worrying he’ll leave any type of mark.

“Damn right,” he growls.

Michael groans when Alex pulls him that much closer, pressing Michael’s oversensitive cock against his thigh in the process, the sharp sensation of pleasure mixed with overstimulation shooting up his spine. Alex whispers an apology, running a soothing hand up Michael’s arm.

“Who knew you had such a possession kink,” Michael breathes, leaning in to kiss Alex with a smile, but Alex pulls back, brow furrowing and a frown pulling at his lips.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

Michael stares at him wordlessly, and Alex looks away, worries his bottom lip between his teeth and stumbles on.

“I need you to know that I’m not—I don’t want  _ that _ in our relationship. I want you to feel like you can be yourself and be free, and not worry that I’m—I’m  _ not _ that person.”

Alex meets his eyes, desperate and so sincere, and Michael won’t say he loves him, not here. Alex deserves a grand declaration, an intimate setting with soft lighting and music, not crammed onto a communal lounge chair together, post-coital with their pants off. But Michael feels it, so deeply in this moment he can’t breathe, and he brushes his thumb across Alex’s cheek and thinks,  _ I love you, you idiot. _

“Alex, I  _ know _ that’s not you,” he laughs. “This was a scene. And it was hot as fuck. But it’s not who you are.”

Alex shakes his head.

“Those weren’t just words,” he insists. “I  _ felt _ that today. I watched you and I felt proud, of course I did, but I also—I was fucking seething  _ all day _ , Michael, I don’t understand-”

“Alex,” Michael interrupts, lays a finger over his lips. “I  _ wanted _ you to feel that way. I’m not saying I don’t act like that on a regular basis, but I felt you watching me all day. And I liked it. I was playing it up, playing with you.  _ For  _ you _.”  _ He leans in, presses a lingering kiss to Alex’s lips. “I get to be every part of myself with you. You make me feel free  _ and  _ owned.”

Alex’s eyes fall closed and Michael waits as he works through whatever lingering doubts his treacherous mind is holding tight to. He’s perfectly still, Alex’s fingers in his hair scratching at his scalp the only indication he hasn’t fallen asleep. When he opens his eyes, he’s laser focused, searching Michael’s face for any hint of deception.

“You sure?” he breathes, and Michael nods easily. Alex presses his brow to Michael’s gently, breathing out slow and steady, and he smiles. 

“You are so good for me,” he whispers, and Michael melts into him, relishing the heat of Alex’s skin and the heady air passing between them as they breathe, neither willing to turn away.

“Just for you,” he replies with the air of a promise, or a vow.


End file.
